POMONA'S    TRAI/ELS 

4  Series  of  Letters  to  the  Mistress  of  Rudder  Grange 
from  her  former  Handmaiden 


BY 

FRANK  R. STOCKTON 

ILLUSTRATED 
BY 

A.B.FROST 
PUBIrl&H&D 

CHARLES  SCRIBNEPvk   SONS 


Copyright,  1894,  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Som 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co. 
Astor  Place,  New  York 


If: 


NTENTS  £•: 


LETTER   ONE. 

PAGE 

Wanted, — a  Vicarage 5 

LETTER   TWO. 
On  the  Four-in-band 75 

LETTER    THREE. 
Jone  overshadows  the  Waiter 30 

LETTER    FOUR. 
The  Cottage  at  Chedcombe 41 

LETTER   FIVE. 
Pomona  takes  a  Lodger 54 

281311 


vi  Contents. 

LETTER  SIX. 

PAGE 

Pomona  expounds  Americanisms 59 

LETTER  SEVEN. 
The  Hayfield 68 

LETTER   EIGHT. 
Jone  teaches  Young  Ladies  how  to  Rake. 80 

LETTER   NINE. 
A  Runaway  Tricycle 88 

LETTER   TEN. 

Pomona  slides  Backward  down  the  Slope  of  the 
Centuries 104 

LETTER   ELEVEN. 
On  the  Moors //o 

LETTER   TWELVE. 
Stag-hunting  on  a  Tricycle //7 

LETTER   THIRTEEN. 
The  Green  Placard 729 

LETTER  FOURTEEN. 

Pomona  and  her  David  Llewellyn - 


Contents.  vii 

LETTER   FIFTEEN. 

PAGE 

Hogs  and  the  Fine  Arts 148 

LETTER   SIXTEEN. 
With  Dickens  in  London 765 

LETTER   SEVENTEEN. 
Buxton  and  tbe  Bath  Chairs  775 

LETTER   EIGHTEEN. 
Mr.  Poplington  as  Guide 797 

LETTER  NINETEEN. 
Angelica  and  Pomeroy 199 

LETTER   TWENTY. 
The  Countess  of  Mussleby 277 

LETTER  TWENTY-ONE. 
Edinbord1  Town 279 

LETTER   TWENTY-TWO. 
Pomona  and  her  Gilly 226 

LETTER   TWENTY-THREE. 
They  follow  the  Lady  of  the  Lake 247 


viii  Contents. 

LETTER   TWENTY-FOUR. 

PAGH 

Comparisons  become  Odious  to  Pomona 249 

LETTER   TWENTY-FIVE. 
The  Family-Tree-Man 257 

LETTER   TWENTY-SIX. 
Searching  for  Dorkminsters 269 

LETTER   TWENTY-SEVEN. 
Their  Country  and  their  Custom  Home 272 


PAGE 

7377*  Page           ....        .         .        .        •      • .  .     iii 

Vignette  Heading  to  Table  of  Contents        ...  v 
Tail-piece  to  Table  of  Contents          .....  viii 

Vignette  Heading  to  List  of  Illustrations  ix 

Tail-piece  to  List  of  Illustrations     .        .        ,  xi 

Heading  and  Initial  Letter           .        .         .         .         .  5 

"Boy,  go  order  me  a  four-in-hand "          .         .         .  13 

The  Landlady  with  an  "  underdone  visage"        .         .  15 

"Hooked  at  the  ladder  and  at  the  top  front  seat"  .  .     18 
"Down  came  a  shower  of  rain"   ....         .21 

"Ask  the  waiter  what  the  French  words  mean  "     .  .27 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter    ....  30 

Jone  giving  an  order        .        •        .         .         .         .  •     31 

The  Carver    .........  33 


x  List  of  Illustrations. 


PAGE 


"You  Americans  are  the  speediest  people"  ...  39 
"That  was  our  Jiouse"  .  .  .  .  .  43 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter  ....  54 
"The young  lady  who  keeps  the  bar"  ...  57 

"I  see  signs  of  weakening  in  the  social  boom  "  .61 

At  the  Abbey 69 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter  ....  80 
"There,  with  tJie  bar  lady  and  the  Marie  Antoinette 

chambermaid,  was  Jone"  .....  83 

"At  last  I  did  get  on  my  feet" 94 

"Rise,  Sir  Jane  Puddle "    .         .         .         .         .         .         107 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter      .         .         .'        .     110 
"In  an  instant  I  was  free"  .         .         .         .         .         120 

"If  you  was  a  man  Fd  break  your  head"      .         .         .     124 
"Fm  a  Home  Ruler"    .      •  .         .         .         .         .         .         133 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter       .         .         .         .138 

"And  with  a  screech  I  dashed  at  those  hogs  like  a  steam 

engine"  .  .  .  ' 154 

"In  the  winter,  when  the  water  is  frozen,  they  can  t  get 

over "  .  .  .'  .  .  .  .  .158 

"Who  do  you  suppose  we  met?  Mr.  Poplington  !"  .  163 
Mr.  Poplington  looking  for  luggage  .  .  .  173 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter.  .  .  .  175 

Pomona  encourages  Jonas  . 176 

"Stop,  lady ,  and  Til  get  out" 187 


List  of  Illustrations. 


XI 

PAGE 
I99 

201 


Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter     . 

"  Your  brother  is  over  there  "  .  • 

To  the  Cat  and  Fiddle 208 

"And  did  you  like  Chedcombe  ?".         .  .215 

"Jone  looked  at  him  and  said  that  was  the  Highland 

costume"    .        •        .        .         •         *  •         •     222 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter  .  226 

"/  didn't  say  anything,  and  taking  the  pole  in  both 

hands  I  gave  it  a  -wild  twirl  over  my  head  "  .     233 

Pomona  drinking  it  in  •  239 

Vignette  Heading  and  Initial  Letter      .  •     241 

"A  person  who  was  a  family -tree-man  "     .  259 

"This  might  be  a  Dorkminster"    ...  .270 

Jone  didn't  carry  any  hand-bag,  and  I  had  only  a  little 

one.  •        •       274 


POMONA'S  TRAVELS 

THIS  series  of  letters,  written  by  Pomona  of 
"  Rudder  Grange  "  to  her  former  mistress,  Euphe- 
mia,  may  require  a  few  words  of  introduction. 
Those  who  have  not  read  the  adventures  and  ex 
periences  of  Pomona  in  "  Rudder  Grange  "  should 
be  told  that  she  first  appeared  in  that  story  as  a 
very  young  and  illiterate  girl,  fond  of  sensational 
romances,  and  with  some  out-of-the-way  ideas  in 
regard  to  domestic  economy  and  the  conventions 
of  society.  This  romantic  orphan  took  service  in 
the  "  Rudder  Grange "  family,  and  as  the  story 
progressed  she  grew  up  into  a  very  estimable  young 
woman,  and  finally  married  Jonas,  the  son  of  a  well- 
to-do  farmer.  Even  after  she  came  into  possession 
of  a  husband  and  a  daughter  Pomona  did  not  lose 
her  affection  for  her  former  employers. 

About  a  year  before  the  beginning  of  the  travels 
described  in  these  letters  Jonas's  father  died  and  left 
a  comfortable  little  property,  which  placed  Pomona 
and  her  husband  in  independent  circumstances.  The 
ideas  and  ambitions  of  this  eccentric  but  sensible 


2,   _  Pomona  s    Travels 

young  woman  enlarged  with  her  fortune.  As  her 
daughter  was  now  going  to  school,  Pomona  was 
seized  with  the  spirit  of  emulation,  and  determined 
as  far  as  was  possible  to  make  the  child's  education 
an  advantage  to  herself.  Some  of  the  books  used 
by  the  little  girl  at  school  were  carefully  and  ear 
nestly  studied  by  her  mother,  and  as  Jonas  joined 
with  hearty  good-will  in  the  labors  and  pleasures  of 
this  system  of  domestic  study,  the  family  standard 
of  education  was  considerably  raised.  In  the  quick 
witted  and  observant  Pomona  the  improvement 
showed  itself  principally  in  her  methods  of  expres 
sion,  and  although  she  could  not  be  called  at  the 
time  of  these  travels  an  educated  woman,  she  was 
by  no  means  an  ignorant  one. 

When  the  daughter  was  old  enough  she  was 
allowed  to  accept  an  invitation  from  her  grand 
mother  to  spend  the  summer  in  the  country,  and 
Pomona  determined  that  it  was  the  duty  of  herself 
and  husband  to  avail  themselves  of  this  opportunity 
for  foreign  travel. 

Accordingly,  one  fine  spring  morning,  Pomona, 
still  a  young  woman,  and  Jonas,  not  many  years 
older,  but  imbued  with  a  semi-pathetic  complai 
sance  beyond  his  years,  embarked  for  England 
and  Scotland,  to  which  countries  it  was  deter 
mined  to  limit  their  travels.  The  letters  which 
follow  were  written  in  consequence  of  the  earnest 
desire  of  Euphemia  to  have  a  full  account  of  the 


Pomona  s   Travels  3 

travels  and  foreign  impressions  of  her  former  hand 
maiden.  Pruned  of  dates,  addresses,  signatures, 
and  of  many  personal  and  friendly  allusions,  these 
letters  are  here  presented  as  Pomona  wrote  them 
to  Euphemia. 


Letter  Number  One 


i 


LONDON 

SHE  first  thing  Jone  said  to  me  when 
H*  I  told  him  I  was  going  to  write 
about  what  I  saw  and  heard  was 
that  I  must  be  careful  of  two  things.  In  the  first 
place,  I  must  not  write  a  lot  of  stuff  that  every 
body  ought  to  be  expected  to  know,  especially 
people  who  have  travelled  themselves  ;  and  in  the 
second  place,  I  must  not  send  you  my  green  opin 
ions,  but  must  wait  until  they  were  seasoned,  so  that 
I  can  see  what  they  are  good  for  before  I  send  them. 
"  But  if  I  do  that,"  said  I,  "  I  will  get  tired  of 
them  long  before  they  are  seasoned,  and  they  will 
be  like  a  bundle  of  old  sticks  that  I  wouldn't  offer 
to  anybody."  Jone  laughed  at  that,  and  said  I 
might  as  well  send  them  along  green,  for,  after  all, 
I  wasn't  the  kind  of  a  person  to  keep  things  until 
they  were  seasoned,  to  see  if  I  liked  them.  "  That's 
true,"  said  I,  "  there's  a  great  many  things,  such  as 


6  Pomonds    Travels 

husbands  and  apples,  that  I  like  a  good  deal  better 
fresh  than  dry.  Is  that  all  the  advice  you've  got  to 
give?" 

"  For  the  present,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  dare  say  I 
shall  have  a  good  deal  more  as  we  go  along." 

"All  right,"  said  I,  "but  be  careful  you  don't 
give  me  any  of  it  green.  Advice  is  like  gooseber 
ries,  that's  got  to  be  soft  and  ripe,  or  else  well 
cooked  and  sugared,  before  they're  fit  to  take  into 
anybody's  stomach." 

Jone  was  standing  at  the  window  of  our  sitting- 
room  when  I  said  this,  looking  out  into  the  street. 
As  soon  as  we  got  to  London  we  took  lodgings  in  a 
little  street  running  out  of  the  Strand,  for  we  both 
want  to  be  in  the  middle  of  things  as  long  as  we  are 
in  this  conglomerate  town,  as  Jone  calls  .it.  He 
says,  and  I  think  he  is  about  right,  that  it  is  made 
up  of  half  a  dozen  large  cities,  ten  or  twelve  towns, 
at  least  fifty  villages,  more  than  a  hundred  little 
settlements,  or  hamlets,  as  they  call  them  here,  and 
about  a  thousand  country  houses  scattered  along 
around  the  edges ;  and  over  and  above  all  these  are 
the  inhabitants  of  a  large  province,  which,  there 
being  no  province  to  put  them  into,  are  crammed 
into  all  the  cracks  and  crevices  so  as  to  fill  up  the 
town  and  pack  it  solid. 

When  we  was  in  London  before,  with  you  and 
your  husband,  madam,  and  we  lost  my  baby  in 
Kensington  Gardens,  we  lived,  you  know,  in  a 


Pomona  s   Travels  7 

peaceful,  quiet  street  by  a  square  or  crescent,  where 
about  half  the  inhabitants  were  pervaded  with  the 
solemnities  of  the  past  and  the  other  half  bowed 
down  by  the  dolefulness  of  the  present,  and  no  way 
of  getting  anywhere  except  by  descending  into  a 
movable  tomb,  which  is  what  I  always  think  of  when 
we  go  anywhere  in  the  underground  railway.  But 
here  we  can  walk  to  lots  of  things  we  want  to  see, 
and  if  there  was  nothing  else  to  keep  us  lively  the 
fear  of  being  run  over  would  do  it,  you  may  be  sure. 

But,  after  all,  Jone  and  me  didn't  come  here  to 
London  just  to  see  the  town.  We  have  ideas  far 
ahead  of  that.  When  we  was  in  London  before  I 
saw  pretty  nearly  all  the  sights,  for  when  I've  got 
work  like  that  to  do  I  don't  let  the  grass  grow  under 
my  feet,  and  what  we  want  to  do  on  this  trip  is  to 
see  the  country  part  of  England  and  Scotland.  And 
in  order  to  see  English  country  life  just  as  it  is,  we 
both  agreed  that  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  take  a 
little  house  in  the  country  and  live  there  a  while ; 
and  I'll  say  here  that  this  is  the  only  plan  of  the 
whole  journey  that  Jone  gets  real  enthusiastic 
about,  for  he  is  a  domestic  man,  as  you  well  know, 
and  if  anything  swells  his  veins  with  fervent  rapture 
it  is  the  idea  of  living  in  some  one  place  continuous, 
even  if  it  is  only  for  a  month. 

As  we  wanted  a  house  in  the  country  we  came 
to  London  to  get  it,  for  London  is  the  place  to  get 
everything.  Our  landlady  advised  us,  when  we  told 


8  Pomona  s    Travels 

her  what  we  wanted,  to  try  and  get  a  vicarage  in 
some  little  village,  because,  she  said,  there  are 
always  lots  of  vicars  who  want  to  go  away  for  a 
month  in  the  summer,  and  they  can't  do  it  unless 
they  rent  their  houses  while  they  are  gone.  And  in 
fact,  some  of  them,  she  said,  got  so  little  salary  for 
the  whole  year,  and  so  much  rent  for  their  vicar 
ages  while  they  are  gone,  that  they  often  can't  afford 
to  stay  in  places  unless  they  go  away. 

So  we  answered  some  advertisements,  and  there 
was  no  lack  of  them  in  the  papers,  and  three  agents 
came  to  see  us,  but  we  did  not  seem  to  have  any 
luck.  Each  of  them  had  a  house  to  let  which  ought 
to  have  suited  us,  according  to  their  descriptions, 
and  although  we  found  the  prices  a  good  deal 
higher  than  we  expected,  Jone  said  he  wasn't 
going  to  be  stopped  by  that,  because  it  was  only 
for  a  little  while  and  for  the  sake  of  experience — 
and  experience,  as  all  the  poets,  and  a  good  many 
of  the  prose  writers  besides,  tell  us,  is  always  dear. 
But  after  the  agents  went  away,  saying  they  would 
communicate  with  us  in  the  morning,  we  never 
heard  anything  more  from  them,  and  we  had  to 
begin  all  over  again.  There  was  something  the 
matter,  Jone  and  I  both  agreed  on  that,  but  we 
didn't  know  what  it  was.  But  I  waked  up  in  the 
night  and  thought  about  this  thing  for  a  whole 
hour,  and  in  the  morning  I  had  an  idea. 

"Jone,"  said   I,  when  we   was    eating   breakfast, 


Pomona  s   Travels  9 

"it's  as  plain  as  A  B  C  that  those  agents  don't 
want  us  for  tenants,  and  it  isn't  because  they  think 
we  are  not  to  be  trusted,  for  we'd  have  to  pay  in 
advance,  and  so  their  money's  safe  ;  it  is  something 
else,  and  I  think  I  know  what  it  is.  These  London 
men  are  very  sharp,  and  used  to  sizing  and  sorting 
all  kinds  of  people  as  if  they  was  potatoes  being 
got  ready  for  market,  and  they  have  seen  that  we 
are  not  what  they  call  over  here  gentlefolks." 

"  No  lordly  airs,  eh  ?  "  said  Jone. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  that,"  I  answered  him  back; 
"  lordly  airs  don't  go  into  parsonages,  and  I  don't 
mean  either  that  they  see  from  our  looks  or  man 
ners  that  you  used  to  drive  horses  and  milk  cows 
and  work  in  the  garden,  and  that  I  used  to  cook 
and  scrub  and  was  maid-of-all-work  on  a  canal- 
boat  ;  but  they  do  see  that  we  are  not  the  kind  of 
people  who  are  in  the  habit,  in  this  country,  at  least, 
of  spending  their  evenings  in  the  best  parlors  of 
vicarages." 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  said  Jone,  "  that  they  think 
a  vicar's  kitchen  would  suit  us  better?" 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  they  wouldn't  put  us  in  a  vicar 
age  at  all  ;  there  wouldn't  be  no  place  there  that 
would  not  be  either  too  high  or  too  low  for  us. 
It's  my  opinion  that  what  they  think  we  belong  in 
is  a  lordly  house,  where  you'd  shine  most  as  head 
butler  or  a  steward,  while  I'd  be  the  housekeeper 
or  a  leading  lady's  maid." 


io  Pomona1  s   Travels 

"  By  George  !  "  said  Jone,  getting  up  from  the 
table,  "  if  any  of  those  fellows  would  favor  me  with 
an  opinion  like  that  I'd  break  his  head." 

"  You'd  have  a  lot  of  heads  to  break,"  said  I,  "  if 
you  went  through  this  country  asking  for  opinions 
on  the  subject.  It's  all  very  well  for  us  to  remem 
ber  that  we've  got  a  house  of  our  own  as  good  as 
most  rectors  have  over  here,  and  money  enough  to 
hire  a  minor  canon,  if  we  needed  one  in  the  house; 
but  the  people  over  here  don't  know  that,  and  it 
wouldn't  make  much  difference  if  they  did,  for  it 
wouldn't  matter  how  nice  we  lived  or  what  we  had 
so  long  as  they  knew  we  was  retired  servants." 

At  this  Jone  just  blazed  up  and  rammed  his 
hands  into  his  pockets  and  spread  his  feet  wide 
upon  the  floor.  "  Pomona,"  said  he,  "  I  don't 
mind  it  in  you,  but  if  anybody  else  was  to  call  me 
a  retired  servant  I'd " 

"  Hold  up,  Jone,"  said  I,  "  don't  waste  good, 
wholesome  anger."  Now,  I  tell  you,  madam,  it 
really  did  me  good  to  see  Jone  blaze  up  and  get 
red  in  the  face,  and  I  am  sure  that  if  he'd  get  his 
blood  boiling  oftener  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for 
his  dyspeptic  tendencies  and  what  little  malaria 
may  be  left  in  his  system.  "  It  won't  do  any 
good  to  flare  up  here,"  I  went  on  to  say  to  him; 
"  fact's  fact,  and  we  was  servants,  and  good  ones, 
too,  though  I  say  it  myself,  and  the  trouble 
is  we  haven't  got  into  the  way  of  altogether  for- 


Pomona  s   Travels  1 1 

getting  it,  or,  at  least,  acting  as  if  we  had  forgotten 
it." 

Jone  sat  down  on  a  chair.  "  It  might  help  mat 
ters  a  little,"  he  said,  "  if  I  knew  what  you  was 
driving  at." 

"  I  mean  just  this,"  said  I,  "  as  long  as  we  are  as 
anxious  not  to  give  trouble,  or  as  careful  of  people's 
feelings,  as  good-mannered  to  servants,  and  as  polite 
and  good-natured  to  everybody  we  have  anything 
to  do  with,  as  we  both  have  been  since  we  came 
here,  and  as  it  is  our  nature  to  be,  I  am  proud  to 
say,  we're  bound  to  be  set  down,  at  least  by  the 
general  run  of  people  over  here,  as  belonging  to  the 
pick  of  the  nobility  and  gentry,  or  as  well-bred 
servants.  It's  only  those  two  classes  that  act  as  we 
do,  and  anybody  can  see  we  are  not  special  nobles 
and  gents.  Now,  if  we  want  to  be  reckoned  any 
where  in  between  these  two  we've  got  to  change 
our  manners." 

"Will  you  kindly  mention  just  how?"  said 
Jone. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  will.  In  the  first  place,  we've 
got  to  act  as  if  we  had  always  been  waited  on  and 
had  never  been  satisfied  with  the  way  it  was  done ; 
we've  got  to  let  people  think  that  we  think  we  are  a 
good  deal  better  than  they  are,  and  what  they  think 
about  it  doesn't  make  the  least  difference;  and  then 
again  we've  got  to  live  in  better  quarters  than  these, 
and  whatever  they  may  be  we  must  make  people 


1 2  Pomona  s    Travels 

think  that  we  don't  think  they  are  quite  good 
enough  for  us.  If  we  do  all  that,  agents  may  be 
willing  to  let  us  vicarages." 

"  It  strikes  me,"  said  Jone,  "  that  these  quarters 
are  good  enough  for  us.  I'm  comfortable."  And 
then  he  went  on  to  say,  madam,  that  when  you  and 
your  husband  was  in  London  you  was  well  satisfied 
with  just  such  lodgings. 

"  That's  all  very  well,"  I  said,  "  for  they  never 
moved  in  the  lower  paths  of  society,  and  so  they 
didn't  have  to  make  any  change,  but  just  went 
along  as  they  had  been  used  to  go.  But  if  we 
want  to  make  people  believe  we  belong  to  that 
class  I  should  choose,  if  I  had  my  pick  out  of 
English  social  varieties,  we've  got  to  bounce  about 
as  much  above  it  as  we  were  born  below  it,  so  that 
we  can  strike  somewhere  near  the  proper  average." 

"  And  what  variety  would  you  pick  out,  I'd  like 
to  know?"  said  Jone,  just  a  little  red  in  the  face, 
and  looking  as  if  I  had  told  him  he  didn't  know 
timothy  hay  from  oat  straw. 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  it  is  not  easy  to  put  it  to  you 
exactly,  but  it's  a  sort  of  a  cross  between  a  prosper 
ous  farmer  without  children  and  a  poor  country 
gentleman  with  two  sons  at  college  and  one  in  the 
British  army,  and  no  money  to  pay  their  debts  with." 

"  That  last  is  not  to  my  liking,"  said  Jone. 

"  But  the  farmer  part  of  the  cross  would  make  it 
all  right,"  I  said  to  him,  "  and  it  strikes  me  that  a 


Pomona  s    Travels  1 3 

mixture  like  that  would  just  suit  us  while  we  are 
staying  over  here.  Now,  if  you  will  try  to  think  of 
yourself  as  part  rich  farmer  and  part  poor  gentle 
man,  I'll  consider  myself  the  wife  of  the  combination, 


"  Boy,  go  order  me  a  four-in-hand  " 

and  I  am  sure  we  will  get  along  better.  We  didn't 
come  over  here  to  be  looked  upon  as  if  we  was  the 
bottom  of  a  pie  dish  and  charged  as  if  we  was  the 
upper  crust.  I'm  in  favor  of  paying  a  little  more 
money  and  getting  a  lot  more  respectfulness,  and 


14  Pomona  s   Travels 

the  way  to  begin  is  to  give  up  these  lodgings  and 
go  to  a  hotel  such  as  the  upper  middlers  stop  at. 
From  what  I've  heard,  the  Babylon  Hotel  is  the 
one  for  us  while  we  are  in  London.  Nobody  will 
suspect  that  any  of  the  people  at  that  hotel  are 
retired  servants." 

This  hit  Jone  hard,  as  I  knew  it  would,  and  he 
jumped  up,  made  three  steps  across  the  room,  and 
rang  the  bell  so  that  the  people  across  the  street 
must  have  heard  it,  and  up  came  the  boy  in  green 
jacket  and  buttons,  with  about  every  other  button 
missing,  and  I  never  knew  him  to  come  up  so  quick 
before. 

"  Boy,"  said  Jone  to  him,  as  if  he  was  hollering 
to  a  stubborn  ox,  "  go  order  me  a  four-in-hand." 

But    this    letter  is  so  long  I  must  stop  for  the 
present. 


Letter  Number  Two 

LONDON 

WHEN  Jone  gave  the  remarkable  order  men- 
tioned  in  my  last  letter  I  did  not  correct  him,  for  I 
wouldn't  do  that  before  servants  without  giving 
him  a  chance  to  do  it  himself ;  but  before  either  of 
us  could  say  another  word  the  boy  was  gone. 

"  Mercy  on  us,"  I  said,  "what  a  stupid  blunder! 
You  meant  four-wheeler." 

"  Of  course  I  did,"  he  said  ; 
"  I  was  a  little  mad  and  got 
things  mixed,  but  I  expect 
the  fellow  understood  what 
I  meant." 

"  You  ought  to  have  called 
a  hansom  any  way,"  I  said, 
"  for  they  are  a  lot  more 
stylish  to  go  to  a  hotel  in 
than  in  a  four-wheeler." 

"  If  there  was  six-wheelers 
I  would  have  ordered  one," 
said  he.     "  I  don't  want  any 
body  to  have  more  wheels  than  we  have." 

At  this  moment  the  landlady  came  into  the  room 
with  a  sarcastic  glimmer  on  her  underdone  visage, 


The  Landlady  with  an 
visage  " 


underdone 


16  Pomona  s    Travels 

and,  says  she,  "  I  suppose  you  don't  understand 
about  the  vehicles  we  have  in  London.  The  four- 
in-hand  is  what  the  quality  and  coach  people  use 

when "  As  I  looked  at  Jone  I  saw  his  legs 

tremble,  and  I  know  what  that  means.  If  I  was  a 
wanderin'  dog  and  saw  Jone's  legs  tremble,  the  only 
thoughts  that  would  fill  my  soul  would  be  such  as 
cluster  around  "  Home,  Sweet  Home."  Jone  was 
too  much  riled  by  the  woman's  manner  to  be  will 
ing  to  let  her  think  he  had  made  a  mistake,  and  he 
stopped  her  short.  "  Look  here,"  he  said  to  her, 
"  I  don't  ask  you  to  come  here  to  tell  me  anything 
about  vehicles.  When  I  order  any  sort  of  a  trap  I 
want  it."  When  I  heard  Jone  say  trap  my  soul 
lifted  itself  and  I  knew  there  was  hope  for  us.  The 
stiffness  melted  right  out  of  the  landlady,  and  she 
began  to  look  soft  and  gummy. 

"If  you  want  to  take  a  drive  in  a  four-in-hand 
coach,  sir,"  she  said,  "  there's  two  or  three  of  them 
starts  every  morning  from  Trafalgar  Square,  and 
it's  not  too  late  now,  sir,  if  you  go  over  there 
immediate." 

"Go?"  said  Jone,  throwing  himself  into  a  chair, 
"  I  said,  order  one  to  come.  Where  I  live  that  sort 
of  vehicle  comes  to  the  door  for  its  passengers." 

The  woman  looked  at  Jone  with  a  venerative 
uplifting  of  her  eyebrows.  "  I  can't  say,  sir,  that  a 
coach  will  come,  but  I'll  send  the  boy.  They  go  to 
Dorking,  and  Seven  Oaks,  and  Virginia  Water " 


Pomona  s    Travels  i  7 

"  I  want  to  go  to  Virginia  Water,"  said  Jone,  as 
quick  as  lightning. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  I,  when  the  woman  had  gone, 
44  what  are  you  going  to  do  if  the  coach  comes?" 

"  Go  to  Virginia  Water  in  it,"  said  Jone,  "and 
when  we  come  back  we  can  go  to  the  hotel.  I 
made  a  mistake,  but  I've  got  to  stand  by  it  or  be 
called  a  greenhorn." 

I  was  in  hopes  the  four-in-hand  wouldn't  come, 
but  in  less  than  ten  minutes  there  drove  up  to  our 
door  a  four-horse  coach  which,  not  having  half 
enough  passengers,  was  glad  to  come  such  a  little 
ways  to  get  some  more.  There  was  a  man  in  a 
high  hat  and  red  coat,  who  was  blowing  a  horn  as 
the  thing  came  around  the  corner,  and  just  as  I  was 
looking  into  the  coach  and  thinking  we'd  have  it  all 
to  ourselves,  for  there  was  nobody  in  it,  he  put  a 
ladder  up  against  the  top,  and  says  he,  touching  his 
hat,  "  There's  a  seat  for  you,  madam,  right  next  the 
coachman,  and  one  just  behind  for  the  gentleman. 
Tain't  often  that,  on  a  fine  morning  like  this,  such 
seats  as  them  is  left  vacant  on  account  of  a  sudden 
case  of  croup  in  a  baronet's  family." 

I  looked  at  the  ladder  and  I  looked  at  that  top 
front  seat,  and  I  tell  you,  madam,  I  trembled  in 
every  pore,  but  I  remembered  then  that  all  the 
respectable  seats  was  on  top,  and  the  farther  front 
the  nobbier,  and  as  there  was  a  young  woman  sit 
ting  already  on  the  box-seat,  I  made  up  my  mind 

2 


i8 


Pomona  s   Travels 


that  if  she  could  sit  there  I  could,  and  that  I  wasn't 
going  to  let  Jone  or  anybody  else  see  that  I  was 
frightened  by  style  and  fashion,  though  confronted 


"  I  looked  at  the  ladder  and  at  the  top  front  seat  " 

by  it  so  sudden  and  unexpected.  So  up  that  lad 
der  I  went  quick  enough,  having  had  practice  in 
hay-mows,  and  sat  myself  down  between  the  young 
woman  and  the  coachman,  and  when  Jone  had 


Pomona  s   Travels  1 9 

tucked  himself  in  behind  me  the  horner  blew  his 
horn  and  away  we  went. 

I  tell  you,  madam,  that  box-seat  was  a  queer  box 
for  me.  I  felt  as  though  I  was  sitting  on  the  eaves 
of  a  roof  with  a  herd  of  horses  cavoorting  under  my 
feet.  I  never  had  a  bird's-eye  view  of  horses  before. 
Looking  down  on  their  squirming  bodies,  with  the 
coachman  almost  standing  on  his  tiptoes  driving 
them,  was  so  different  from  Jone's  buggy  and  our 
tall  gray  horse,  which  in  general  we  look  up  to,  that 
fora  good  while  I  paid  no  attention  to  anything  but 
the  danger  of  falling  out  on  top  of  them.  But  hav 
ing  made  sure  that  Jone  was  holding  on  to  my  dress 
from  behind,  I  began  to  take  an  interest  in  the  things 
around  me. 

Knowing  as  much  as  I  thought  I  did  about  the 
bigness  of  London,  I  found  that  morning  that  I 
never  had  any  idea  of  what  an  everlasting  town  it  is. 
It  is  like  a  skein  of  tangled  yarn — there  doesn't  seem 
to  be  any  end  to  it.  Going  in  this  way  from  Nelson's 
Monument  out  into  the  country,  it  was  amazing  to 
see  how  long  it  took  to  get  there.  We  would  go 
out  of  the  busy  streets  into  a  quiet  rural  neighbor 
hood,  or  what  looked  like  it,  and  the  next  thing  we 
knew  we'd  be  in  another  whirl  of  omnibuses  and  cabs, 
with  people  and  shops  everywhere ;  and  we'd  go  on 
and  through  this  and  then  come  to  another  hand 
some  village  with  country  houses,  and  the  street 
would  end  in  another  busy  town  ;  and  so  on  until 


2O  *       Pomona  s    Travels 

I  began  to  think  there  was  no  real  country,  at  least, 
in  the  direction  we  was  going.  It  is  my  opinion 
that  if  London  was  put  on  a  pivot  and  spun  round 
in  the  State  of  Texas  until  it  all  flew  apart,  it  would 
spread  all  over  the  State  and  settle  up  the  whole 
country. 

At  last  we  did  get  away  from  the  houses  and  began 
to  roll  along  on  the  best  made  road  I  ever  saw, 
with  a  hedge  on  each  side  and  the  greenest  grass  in 
the  fields,  and  the  most  beautiful  trees,  with  the  very 
trunks  covered  with  green  leaves,  and  with  white 
sheep  and  handsome  cattle  and  pretty  thatched  cot 
tages,  and  everything  in  perfect  order,  looking  as  if 
it  had  just  been  sprinkled  and  swept.  We  had  seen 
English  country  before,  but  that  was  from  the  win 
dows  of  a  train,  and  it  was  very  different  from  this 
sort  of  thing,  where  we  went  meandering  along 
lanes,  for  that  is  what  the  roads  look  like,  being  so 
narrow. 

Just  as  I  was  getting  my  whole  soul  full  of  this 
lovely  ruralness,  down  came  a  shower  of  rain  with 
out  giving  the  least  notice.  I  gave  a  jump  in  my 
seat  as  I  felt  it  on  me,  and  began  to  get  ready  to 
get  down  as  soon  as  the  coachman  should  stop  for  us 
all  to  get  inside  ;  but  he  didn't  stop,  but  just  drove 
along  as  if  the  sun  was  shining  and  the  balmy  breezes 
blowing,  and  then  I  looked  around  and  not  a  soul 
of  the  eight  people  on  the  top  of  that  coach  showed 
the  least  sign  of  expecting  to  get  down  and  go 


Pomona  s   Travels  23 

inside.  They  all  sat  there  just  as  if  nothing  was 
happening,  and  not  one  of  them  even  mentioned  the 
rain.  But  I  noticed  that  each  of  them  had  on  a 
mackintosh  or  some  kind  of  cape,  whereas  Jone  and 
I  never  thought  of  taking  anything  in  the  way  of 
waterproof  or  umbrellas,  as  it  was  perfectly  clear 
when  we  started. 

I  looked  around  at  Jone,  but  he  sat  there  with  his 
face  as  placid  as  a  piece  of  cheese,  looking  as  if  he 
had  no  more  knowledge  it  was  raining  than  the  two 
Englishmen  on  the  seat  next  him.  Seeing  he  wasn't 
going  to  let  those  men  think  he  minded  the  rain  any 
more  than  they  did,  I  determined  that  I  wouldn't 
let  the  young  woman  who  was  sitting  by  me  have 
any  notion  that  I  minded  it,  and  so  I  sat  still,  with 
as  cheerful  a  look  as  I  could  screw  up,  gazing  at  the 
trees  with  as  gladsome  a  countenance  as  anybody 
could  have  with  water  trickling  down  her  nose,  her 
cheeks  dripping,  and  dewdrops  on  her  very  eyelashes, 
while  the  dampness  of  her  back  was  getting  more 
and  more  perceptible  as  each  second  dragged  itself 
along.  Jone  turned  up  the  hood  of  my  coat,  and  so 
let  down  into  the  back  of  my  neck  what  water  had 
collected  in  it;  but  I  didn't  say  anything,  but  set  my 
teeth  hard  together  and  fixed  my  mind  on  Columbia, 
happy  land,  and  determined  never  to  say  anything 
about  rain  until  some  English  person  first  men 
tioned  it. 

But  when  one  of  the  flowers  on  my  hat  leaned 


24  Pomona  s   Travels 

over  the  brim  and  exuded  bloody  drops  on  the  front 
of  my  coat  I  began  to  weaken,  and  to  think  that 
if  there  was  nothing  better  to  do  I  might  get  under 
one  of  the  seats  ;  but  just  then  the  rain  stopped  and 
the  sun  shone.  It  was  so  sudden  that  it  startled 
me;  but  not  one  of  those  English  people  mentioned 
that  the  rain  had  stopped  and  the  sun  was  shining, 
and  so  neither  did  Jone  or  I.  We  was  feeling 
mighty  moist  and  unhappy,  but  we  tried  to  smile 
as  if  we  was  plants  in  a  greenhouse,  accustomed  to 
being  watered  and  feeling  all  the  better  for  it. 

I  can't  write  you  all  about  the  coach  drive,  which 
was  very  delightful,  nor  of  that  beautiful  lake  they 
call  Virginia  Water,  and  which  I  know  you  have  a 
picture  of  in  your  house.  They  tell  me  it  is  arti 
ficial,  but  as  it  was  made  more  than  a  hundred  years 
ago,  it  might  now  be  considered  natural.  We  dined 
at  an  inn,  and  when  we  got  back  to  town,  with  two 
more  showers  on  the  way,  I  said  to  Jone  that  I 
thought  we'd  better  go  straight  to  the  Babylon 
Hotel,  which  we  intended  to  start  out  for,  although 
it  was  a  long  way  round  to  go  by  Virginia  Water, 
and  see  about  engaging  a  room;  and  as  Jone  agreed 
I  asked  the  coachman  if  he  would  put  us  down  there, 
knowing  that  he'd  pass  near  it.  He  agreed  to  this, 
and  seemed  very  glad  to  stop  there,  which  I  sup 
pose  would  be  an  advertisement  for  his  coach. 

When  we  got  on  the  street  where  the  Babylon 
Hotel  was  he  whipped  up  his  horses  so  that  they 


Pomona  s   Travels  25 

went  almost  on  a  run,  and  the  horner  blew  his  horn 
until  his  eyes  seemed  bursting,  and  with  a  grand 
sweep  and  a  clank  and  a  jingle  we  pulled  up  at  the 
front  of  the  big  hotel.  Out  marched  the  head 
porter  in  a  blue  uniform,  and  out  ran  two  under- 
porters  with  red  coats,  and  down  jumped  the  horner 
and  put  up  his  ladder,  and  Jone  and  I  got  down, 
after  giving  the  coachman  half-a-crown,  and  receiv 
ing  from  the  passengers  a  combined  gaze  of  differ- 
entialism  which  had  been  wholly  wanting  before. 
The  men  in  the  red  coats  looked  disappointed  when 
they  saw  we  had  no  baggage,  but  the  great  doors 
was  flung  open  and  we  went  straight  up  to  the 
clerk's  desk. 

When  we  was  taken  to  look  at  rooms  I  remem 
bered  that  there  was  always  danger  of  Jone's  ten 
dency  to  thankful  contentment  getting  the  better 
of  him,  and  I  took  the  matter  in  hand  myself. 
Two  rooms  good  enough  for  anybody  was  shown 
us,  but  I  was  not  going  to  take  the  first  thing 
that  was  offered,  no  matter  what  it  was.  We 
settled  the  matter  by  getting  a  first-class  room, 
with  sofas  and  writing-desks  and  everything  con 
venient,  for  only  a  little  more  than  we  was 
charged  for  the  other  rooms,  and  the  next  morn 
ing  we  went  there. 

When  we  went  back  to  our  lodgings  to  pack  up, 
and  I  looked  in  the  glass  and  saw  what  a  smeary, 
bedraggled  state  my  hat  and  head  was  in,  from 


26  Pomona  s   Travels 

being  rained  on,  I  said  to  Jone,  "  I  don't  see  how 
those  people  ever  let  such  a  person  as  me  have  a 
room  at  their  hotel." 

"  It  doesn't  surprise  me  a  bit,"  said  Jone ; 
"  nobody  but  a  very  high  and  mighty  person 
would  have  dared  to  go  lording  it  about  that 
hotel  with  her  hat  feathers  and  flowers  all  plas 
tered  down  over  her  head.  Most  people  can  be 
uppish  in  good  clothes,  but  to  look  like  a  scare 
crow  and  be  uppish  can't  be  expected  except 
from  the  truly  lofty." 

"  I  hope  you  are  right,"  I  said,  and  I  think  he  was. 

We  hadn't  been  at  the  Babylon  Hotel,  where  we 
are  now,  for  more  than  two  days  when  I  said  to  Jone 
that  this  sort  of  thing  wasn't  going  to  do.  He 
looked  at  me  amazed.  "  What  on  earth  is  the 
matter  now?"  he  said.  "Here  is  a  room  fit  fora 
royal  duke,  in  a  house  with  marble  corridors  and 
palace  stairs,  and  gorgeous  smoking-rooms,  and  a 
post-office,  and  a  dining-room  pretty  nigh  big 
enough  for  a  hall  of  Congress,  with  waiters  enough 
to  make  two  military  companies,  and  the  bills  of 
fare  all  in  French.  If  there  is  anything  more  you 
want,  Pomona " 

"Stop  there."  said  I;  "the  last  thing  you  men 
tion  is  the  rub.  It's  the  dining-room  ;  it's  in  that 
resplendent  hall  that  we've  got  to  give  ourselves  a 
social  boom  or  be  content  to  fold  our  hands  and 
fade  away  forever." 


Pomona  s    Travels  27 

*  Which  I  don't  want  to  do  yet,"  said  Jone,  "  so 
speak  out  your  trouble." 

"  The  trouble  this  time  is  you,"  said  I,  "  and 
your  awful  meekness.  I  never  did  see  anybody 
anywhere  as  meek  as  you  are  in  that  dining-room. 
A  half-drowned  fly  put  into  the  sun  to  dry  would 


// 

"Ask  the  waiter  what  the  French  words  mean" 

be  overbearing  and  supercilious  compared  to  you. 
When  you  sit  down  at  one  of  those  tables  you 
look  as  if  you  was  afraid  of  hurting  the  chair, 
and  when  the  waiter  gives  you  the  bill  of  fare  you 
ask  him  what  the  French  words  mean,  and  then 
he  looks  down  on  you  as  if  he  was  a  superior 
Jove  contemplating  a  hop-toad,  and  he  tells  you 


28  Pomona  s   Travels 

that  this  one  means  beef  and  the  other  means 
potatoes,  and  brings  you  the  things  that  are  easiest 
to  get.  And  you  look  as  if  you  was  thankful  from 
the  bottom  of  your  heart  that  he  is  good  enough 
to  give  you  anything  at  all.  All  the  airs  I  put  on 
are  no  good  while  you  are  so  extra  humble.  I  tell 
him  I  don't  want  this  French  thing — when  I  don't 
know  what  it  is — and  he  must  bring  me  some  of 
the  other — which  I  never  heard  of — and  when  it 
comes  I  eat  it,  no  matter  what  it  turns  out  to  be, 
and  try  to  look  as  if  I  was  used  to  it,  but  generally 
had  it  better  cooked.  But,  as  I  said  before,  it  is  of 
no  use — your  humbleness  is  too  much  for  me.  In 
a  few  days  they  will  be  bringing  us  cold  victuals, 
and  recommending  that  we  go  outside  somewhere 
and  eat  them,  as  all  the  seats  in  the  dining-room 
are  wanted  for  other  people." 

"  Well,"  said  Jone,  "  I  must  say  I  do  feel  a  little 
overshadowed  when  I  go  into  that  dining-room 
and  see  those  proud  and  haughty  waiters,  some  of 
them  with  silver  chains  and  keys  around  their 
necks,  showing  that  they  are  lords  of  the  wine- 
cellar,  and  all  of  them  with  an  air  of  lofty  scorn 
for  the  poor  beings  who  have  to  sit  still  and  be 
waited  on  ;  but  I'll  try  what  I  can  do.  As  far  as 
I  am  able,  I'll  hold  up  my  end  of  the  social 
boom." 

You  may  think  I  break  off  my  letters  sudden, 
madam,  like  the  instalments  in  a  sensation 


Pomona  s   Travels  29 

weekly,  which  stops  short  in  the  most  harrow 
ing  parts,  so  as  to  make  certain  the  reader  will 
buy  the  next  number;  but  when  I've  written  as 
much  as  I  think  two  foreign  stamps  will  carry 
—for  more  than  fivepence  seems  extravagant  for 
a  letter — I  generally  stop. 


Letter  Number  Three 


LONDON 

|T  dinner-time  the  day  when  I  had  the 
conversation  with  Jone  mentioned  in 
my  last  letter,  we  was  sitting  in  the 
dining-room  at  a  little  table  in  a  far  corner,  where 
we'd  never  been  before.  Not  being  considered  of 
any  importance  they  put  us  sometimes  in  one  place 
and  sometimes  in  another,  instead  of  giving  us  regu 
lar  seats,  as  I  noticed  most  of  the  other  people  had, 
and  I  was  looking  around  to  see  if  anybody  was 
ever  coming  to  wait  on  us,  when  suddenly  I  heard 
an  awful  noise. 

I  have  read  about  the  rumblings  of  earthquakes, 
and  although  I  never  heard  any  of  them,  I  have 
felt  a  shock,  and  I  can  imagine  the  awfulness  of  the 
rumbling,  and  I  had  a  feeling  as  if  the  building 
was  about  to  sway  and  swing  as  they  do  in  earth- 


Pomona  s    Travels  3 1 

quakes.  It  wasn't  all  my  imagining,  for  I  saw  the 
people  at  the  other  tables  near  us  jump,  and  two 
waiters  who  was  hurrying  past  stopped  short  as  if 
they  had  been  jerked  up  by  a  curb  bit.  I  turned  to 
look  at  Jone,  but  he  was  sitting  up  straight  in  his 


Jone  giving  an  order 

chair,  as  solemn  and  as  steadfast  as  a  gate-post,  and 
I  thought  to  myself  that  if  he  hadn't  heard  anything 
he  must  have  been  struck  deaf,  and  I  was  just  on 
the  point  of  jumping  up  and  shouting  to  him,  "  Fly, 
before  the  walls  and  roof  come  down  upon  us !  " 
when  that  awful  noise  occurred  again.  My  blood 


32  Pomona  s   Travels 

stood  frigid  in  my  veins,  and  as  I  started  back  1 
saw  before  me  a  waiter,  his  face  ashy  pale,  and  his 
knees  bending  beneath  him.  Some  people  near  us 
were  half  getting  up  from  their  chairs,  and  I  pushed 
back  and  looked  at  Jone  again,  who  had  not  moved 
except  that  .his  mouth  was  open.  Then  I  knew 
what  it  was  that  I  thought  was  an  earthquake — 
it  was  Jone  giving  an  order  to  the  waiter. 

I  bit  my  lips  and  sat  silent ;  the  people  around  kept 
on  looking  at  us,  and  the  poor  man  who  was  receiv 
ing  the  shock  stood  trembling  like  a  leaf.  When  the 
volcanic  disturbance,  so  to  speak,  was  over,  the 
waiter  bowed  himself,  as  if  he  had  been  a  heathen 
in  a  temple,  and  gasping,  "  Yes,  sir,  immediate," 
glided  unevenly  away.  He  hadn't  waited  on  us 
before,  and  little  thought,  when  he  was  going  to 
stride  proudly  pass  our  table,  what  a  double-loaded 
Vesuvius  was  sitting  in  Jone's  chair.  I  leaned  over 
the  table  and  said  to  Jone  that  if  he  would  stick  to 
that  we  could  rent  a  bishopric  if  we  wanted  to,  and 
I  was  so  proud  I  could  have  patted  him  on  the  back. 
Well,  after  that  we  had  no  more  trouble  about  being 
waited  on,  for  that  waiter  of  ours  went  about  as  if 
he  had  his  neck  bared  for  the  fatal  stroke  and  Jone 
was  holding  the  cimeter. 

The  head  waiter  came  to  us  before  we  was  done 
dinner  and  asked  if  we  had  everything  we  wanted 
and  if  that  table  suited  us,  because  if  it  did  we  could 
always  have  it.  To  which  Jone  distantly  thundered 


Pomonas    Travels 


33 


that  if  he  would  see  that  it  always  had  a  clean  table 
cloth  it  would  do  well  enough. 

Even  the  man  who  stood  at  the  big  table  in 
the  middle  of 
the  room  and 
carved  the  cold 
meats,  with  his 
hair  parted  in 
the  middle,  and 
who  looked  as 
if  he  were  say 
ing  to  himself, 
as  with  a  bland 
dexterity  and 
tastefulness  he 
laid  each  slice 
upon  its  plate, 
"  Now,  then,  the 

socialistic  movement  in  Paris  is  arrested  for  the  time 
being,  and  here  again  I  put  an  end  to  the  hopes  of 
Russia  getting  to  the  sea  through  Afghanistan,  and 
now  I  carefully  spread  contentment  over  the  minds 
of  all  them  riotous  Welsh  miners,"  even  he  turned 
around  and  bowed  to  us  as  we  passed  him,  and  once 
sent  a  waiter  to  ask  if  we'd  like  a  little  bit  of  potted 
beef,  which  was  particularly  good  that  day. 

Jone  kept  up  his  rumblings,  though  they  sounded 
more  distant  and  more  deep  under  ground,  and  one 
day  at  luncheon  an  elderly  woman,  who  was  sitting 


The  Carver 


34  Pomona  s   Travels 

alone  at  a  table  near  us,  turned  to  me  and  spoke. 
She  was  a  very  plain  person,  with  her  face  all  seamed 
and  rough  with  exposure  to  the  weather,  like  as  if 
she  had  been  captain  to  a  pilot  boat,  and  with  a 
general  appearance  of  being  a  cook  with  good 
recommendations,  but  at  present  out  of  a  place.  I 
might  have  wondered  at  such  a  person  being  at  such 
a  hotel,  but  remembering  what  I  had  been  myself  I 
couldn't  say  what  mightn't  happen  to  other  people. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see,"  said  she,  "  that  you  sent  away 
that  mutton,  for  if  more  persons  would  object  to 
things  that  are  not  properly  cooked  we'd  all  be 
better  served.  I  suppose  that  in  your  country  most 
people  are  so  rich  that  they  can  afford  to  have  the 
best  of  everything  and  have  it  always.  I  fancy  the 
great  wealth  of  American  citizens  must  make  their 
housekeeping  very  different  from  ours." 

Now  I  must  say  I  began  to  bristle  at  being  spoken 
to  like  that.  I'm  as  proud  of  being  an  American  as 
anybody  can  be,  but  I  don't  like  the  home  of  the 
free  thrown  into  my  teeth  every  time  I  open  my 
mouth.  There's  no  knowing  what  money  Jone  and 
I  have  lost  through  giving  orders  to  London  cabmen 
in  what  is  called  our  American  accent.  The  minute 
we  tell  the  driver  of  a  hansom  where  we  want  to  go, 
that  place  doubles  its  distance  from  the  spot  we 
start  from.  Now  I  think  the  great  reason  Jone's 
rumbling  worked  so  well  was  that  it  had  in  it  a  sort 
of  Great  British  chest-sound,  as  if  his  lungs  was 


Pomona  s   Travels  35 

rusty.  The  waiter  had  heard  that  before  and  knew 
what  it  meant.  If  he  had  spoken  out  in  the  clear 
American  fashion  I  expect  his  voice  would  have 
gone  clear  through  the  waiter  without  his  knowing 
it,  like  the  person  in  the  story,  whose  neck  was  sliced 
through  and  who  didn't  know  it  until  he  sneezed 
and  his  head  fell  off. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  I,  answering  her  with  as  much 
of  a  wearied  feeling  as  I  could  put  on,  "our  wealth 
is  all  very  well  in  some  ways,  but  it  is  dreadful  wear 
ing  on  us.  However,  we  try  to  bear  up  under  it  and 
be  content." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  contentment  is  a  great  blessing 
in  every  station,  though  I  have  never  tried  it  in 
yours.  Do  you  expect  to  make  a  long  stay  in 
London?" 

As  she  seemed  like  a  civil  and  well-meaning 
woman,  and  was  the  first  person  who  had  spoken  to 
us  in  a  social  way,  I  didn't  mind  talking  to  her,  and 
I  told  her  we  was  only  stopping  in  London  until  we 
could  find  the  kind  of  country  house  we  wanted, 
and  when  she  asked  what  kind  that  was,  I  described 
what  we  wanted  and  how  we  was  still  answering 
advertisements  and  going  to  see  agents,  who  was 
always  recommending  exactly  the  kind  of  house  we 
did  not  care  for. 

"  Vicarages  are  all  very  well,"  said  she,  "  but  it 
sometimes  happens,  and  has  happened  to  friends  of 
mine,  that  when  a  vicar  has  let  his  house  he  makes 


36  Pomona  s    Travels 

up  his  mind  not  to  waste  his  money  in  travelling, 
and  he  takes  lodgings  near  by  and  keeps  an  eternal 
eye  upon  his  tenants.  I  don't  believe  any  independ 
ent  American  would  fancy  that." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  I ;  and  then  she  went  on  to  say 
that  if  we  wanted  a  small  country  house  for  a  month 
or  two  she  knew  of  one  which  she  believed  would 
suit  us,  and  it  wasn't  a  vicarage  either.  When  I 
asked  her  to  tell  me  about  it  she  brought  her  chair 
up  to  our  table,  together  with  her  mug  of  beer,  her 
bread  and  cheese,  and  she  went  into  particulars 
about  the  house  she  knew  of. 

."It  is  situated,"  said  she,  "in  the  west  of  Eng 
land,  in  the  most  beautiful  part  of  our  country.  It 
is  near  one  of  the  quaintest  little  villages  that 
the  past  ages  have  left  us,  and  not  far  away  are  the 
beautiful  waters  of  the  Bristol  Channel,  with  the 
mountains  of  Wales  rising  against  the  sky  on  the 
horizon,  and  all  about  are  hills  and  valleys,  and 
woods  and  beautiful  moors  and  babbling  streams, 
with  all  the  loveliness  of  cultivated  rurality  merging 
into  the  wild  beauties  of  unadorned  nature."  If 
these  was  not  exactly  her  words,  they  express  the 
ideas  she  roused  in  my  mind.  She 'said  the  place 
was  far  enough  away  from  railways  and  the  stream 
of  travel,  and  among  the  simple  peasantry,  and  that 
in  the  society  of  the  resident  gentry  we  would  see 
English  country  life  as  it  is,  uncontaminated  by  the 
tourist  or  the  commercial  traveller. 


Pomona  s    Travels  3  7 

I  can't  remember  all  the  things  she  said  about 
this  charming  cottage  in  this  most  supremely  beau 
tiful  spot,  but  I  sat  and  listened,  and  the  descrip 
tion  held  me  spell-bound,  as  a  snake  fascinates  a 
frog ;  with  this  difference,  instead  of  being  swal 
lowed  by  the  description,  I  swallowed  it. 

When  the  old  woman  had  given  us  the  address  of 
the  person  who  had  the  letting  of  the  cottage,  and 
Jone  and  me  had  gone  to  our  room,  I  said  to  him, 
before  we  had  time  to  sit  down : 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"I  think,"  said  he,  "that  we  ought  to  follow 
that  old  woman's  advice  and  go  and  look  at  this 
house." 

u  Go  and  look  at  it?"  I  exclaimed.  "  Not  a  bit  of 
it.  If  we  do  that,  we  are  bound  to  see  something 
or  hear  something  that  will  make  us  hesitate  and 
consider,  and  if  we  do  that,  away  goes  our  enthusi 
asm  and  our  rapture.  I  say,  telegraph  this  minute 
and  say  we'll  take  the  house,  and  send  a  letter  by 
the  next  mail  with  a  postal  order  in  it,  to  secure  the 
place." 

Jone  looked  at  me  hard,  and  said  he'd  feel  easier  in 
his  mind  if  he  understood  what  I  was  talking  about. 

"  Never  mind  understanding,"  I  said.  "Go  down 
and  telegraph  we'll  take  the  house.  There  isn't  a 
minute  to  lose  !  " 

"  But,"  said  Jone,  "  if  we  find  out  when  we  get 
there " 


38  Pomona  s   Travels 

"  Never  mind  that,"  said  I.  "  If  we  find  out 
when  we  get  there  it  isn't  all  we  thought  it  was, 
and  we're  bound  to  do  that,  we'll  make  the  best  of 
what  doesn't  suit  us  because  it  can't  be  helped  ;  but 
if  we  go  and  look  at  it  it's  ten  to  one  we  won't 
take  it." 

"  How  long  are  we  to  take  it  for?"  said  Jone. 

"  A  month  anyway,  and  perhaps  longer,"  I  told 
him,  giving  him  a  push  toward  the  door. 

"All  right,"  said  he,  and  he  went  and  tele 
graphed.  I  believe  if  Jone  was  told  he  could  go 
anywhere  and  stay  for  a  month  he'd  choose  that 
place  from  among  all  the  most  enchanting  spots  on 
the  earth  where  he  couldn't  stay  so  long.  As  for 
me,  the  one  thing  that  held  me  was  the  romantic- 
ness  of  the  place.  From  what  the  old  woman  said 
I  knew  there  couldn't  be  any  mistake  about  that, 
and  if  I  could  find  myself  the  mistress  of  a  romantic 
cottage  near  an  ancient  village  of  the  olden  time  I 
would  put  up  with  most  everything  except  dirt,  and 
as  dirt  and  me  seldom  keeps  company  very  long, 
even  that  can't  frighten  me. 

When  I  saw  the  old  woman  at  luncheon  the  next 
day  and  told  her  what  we  had  done  she  was  fairly 
dumfounded. 

"  Really  !  really  !  "  she  said,  "  you  Americans  are 
the  speediest  people  I  ever  did  see.  Why,  an  Eng 
lish  person  would  have  taken  a  week  to  consider 
that  place  before  taking  it." 


Pomona  s    Travels  39 

"And  lost  it,  ten  to  one,"  said  I. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  I  suppose  it's  on  account  of 
your  habits,  and  you  can't  help  it,  but  it's  a  poor 
way  of  doing  business." 

Now  I  began  to  think  from  this  that  her  conscience 
was  beginning  to  trouble  her  for  having  given  so  fairy- 
like  a  picture  of  the  house,  and  as  I  was  afraid  that 


I  /  T  ft 

"  You  Americans  are  the  speediest  people  " 

she  might  think  it  her  duty  to  bring  up  some  disad 
vantages,  I  changed  the  conversation  and  got  away 
as  soon  as  I  could.  When  we  once  get  seated  at 
our  humble  board  in  our  rural  cot  I  won't  be  afraid 
of  any  bugaboos,  but  I  didn't  want  them  brought  up 
then.  I  can  generally  depend  upon  Jone,  but  some 
times  he  gets  a  little  stubborn. 

We  didn't  see  this  old  person  any  more,  and  when 
I  asked  the  waiter  about  her  the  next  day  he  said 
he  was  sure  she  had  left  the  hotel,  by  which  I  sup- 


40  Pomona  s    Travels 

pose  he  must  have  meant  he'd  got  his  half-crown. 
Her  fading  away  in  this  fashion  made  it  all  seem  like 
a  myth  or  a  phantasm,  but  when,  the  next  morning, 
we  got  a  receipt  for  the  money  Jone  sent,  and  a  note 
saying  the  house  was  ready  for  our  reception,  I  felt 
myself  on  solid  ground  again,  and  to-morrow  we 
start,  bag  and  baggage,  for  Chedcombe,  which  is  the 
name  of  the  village  where  the  house  is  that  we  have 
taken.  I'll  write  to  you,  madam,  as  soon  as  we  get 
there,  and  I  hope  with  all  my  heart  and  soul  that 
when  we  see  what's  wrong  with  it — and  there's  bound 
to  be  something — that  it  may  not  be  anything  bad 
enough  to  make  us  give  it  up  and  go  floating  off  in 
voidness,  like  a  spider-web  blown  before  a  summer 
breeze,  without  knowing  what  it's  going  to  run 
against  and  stick  to,  and,  what  is  more,  probably  lose 
the  money  we  paid  in  advance. 


Letter  Number  Four 

CHEDCOMBE,  SOMERSETSHIRE 

LAST  winter  Jone  and  I  read  all  the  books  we 
could  get  about  the  rural  parts  of  England,  and  we 
knew  that  the  country  must  be  very  beautiful,  but 
we  had  no  proper  idea  of  it  until  we  came  to  Ched- 
combe.  I  am  not  going  to  write  much  about  the 
scenery  in  this  part  of  the  country,  because,  perhaps, 
you  have  been  here  and  seen  it,  and  anyway  my 
writing  would  not  be  half  so  good  as  what  you  could 
read  in  books,  which  don't  amount  to  anything. 

All  I'll  say  is  that  if  you  was  to  go  over  the  whole 
of  England,  and  collect  a  lot  of  smooth  green  hills, 
with  sheep  and  deer  wandering  about  on  them ; 
brooks,  with  great  trees  hanging  over  them,  and 
vines  and  flowers  fairly  crowding  themselves  into 
the  water  ;  lanes  and  roads  hedged  in  with  hawthorn, 
wild  roses,  and  tall  purple  foxgloves  ;  little  woods 
and  copses;  hills  covered  with  heather;  thatched 
cottages  like  the  pictures  in  drawing-books,  with 
roses  against  their  walls,  and  thin  blue  smoke  curl 
ing  up  from  the  chimneys ;  distant  views  of  the 
sparkling  sea  ;  villages  which  are  nearly  covered  up 
by  greenness,  except  their  steeples  ;  rocky  cliffs  all 
green  with  vines,  and  flowers  spreading  and  thriv- 


42  Pomona  s   Travels 

ing  with  the  fervor  and  earnestness  you  might 
expect  to  find  in  the  tropics,  but  not  here — and 
then,  if  you  was  to  put  all  these  points  of  scenery 
into  one  place  not  too  big  for  your  eye  to  sweep 
over  and  take  it  all  in,  you  would  have  a  country 
like  that  around  Chedcombe. 

I  am  sure  the  old  lady  was  right  when  she  said 
it  was  the  most  beautiful  part  of  England.  The 
first  day  we  was  here  we  carried  an  umbrella  as 
we  walked  through  all  this  verdant  loveliness,  but 
yesterday  morning  we  went  to  the  village  and 
bought  a  couple  of  thin  mackintoshes,  which  will 
save  us  a  lot  of  trouble  opening  and  shutting  um 
brellas. 

When  we  got  out  at  the  Chedcombe  station  we 
found  a  man  there  with  a  little  carriage  he  called  a 
fly,  who  said  he  had  been  sent  to  take  us  to  our 
house.  There  was  also  a  van  to  carry  our  baggage. 
We  drove  entirely  through  the  village,  which  looked 
to  me  as  if  a  bit  of  the  Middle  Ages  had  been  turned 
up  by  the  plough,  and  on  the  other  edge  of  it  there 
was  our  house,  and  on  the  doorstep  stood  a  lady, 
with  a  smiling  eye  and  an  umbrella,  and  who  turned 
out  to  be  our  landlady.  Back  of  her  was  two  other 
females,  one  of  them  looking  like  a  minister's  wife, 
while  the  other  one  I  knew  to  be  a  servant-maid, 
by  her  cap. 

The  lady,  whose  name  was  Mrs.  Shutterfield, 
shook  hands  with  us  and  seemed  very  glad  to  see 


Pomona  s   Travels  45 

us,  and  the  minister's  wife  took  our  hand-bags  from 
us  and  told  the  men  where  to  carry  our  trunks. 
Mrs.  Shutterfield  took  us  into  a  little  parlor  on  one 
side  of  the  hall,  and  then  we  three  sat  down,  and 
I  must  say  I  was  so  busy  looking  at  the  queer, 
delightful  room,  with  everything  in  it — chairs,  tables, 
carpets,  walls,  pictures,  and  flower-vases — all  belong 
ing  to  a  bygone  epoch,  though  perfectly  fresh,  as  if 
just  made,  that  I  could  scarcely  pay  attention  to 
what  the  lady  said.  But  I  listened  enough  to  know 
that  Mrs.  Shutterfield  told  us  that  she  had  taken  the 
liberty  of  engaging  for  us  two  most  excellent  ser 
vants,  who  had  lived  in  the  house  before  it  had 
been  let  to  lodgers,  and  who,  she  was  quite  sure, 
would  suit  us  very  well,  though,  of  course,  we  were 
at  liberty  to  do  what  we  pleased  about  engaging 
them.  The  one  that  I  took  for  the  minister's  wife 
was  a  combination  of  cook  and  housekeeper,  by  the 
name  of  Miss  Pondar,  and  the  other  was  a  maid  in 
general,  named  Hannah.  When  the  lady  mentioned 
two  servants  it  took  me  a  little  aback,  for  we  had 
not  expected  to  have  more  than  one,  but  when  she 
mentioned  the  wages,  and  I  found  that  both  put 
together  did  not  cost  as  much  as  a  very  poor  cook 
would  expect  in  America,  and  when  I  remembered 
we  as  now  at  work  socially  booming  ourselves, 
and  that  it  wouldn't  do  to  let  this  lady  think  that 
we  had  not  been  accustomed  to  varieties  of  ser 
vants,  I  spoke  up  and  said  we  would  engage  the 


46  Pomona  s   Travels 

two  estimable  women  she  recommended,  and  was 
much  obliged  to  her  for  getting  them. 

Then  we  went  over  that  house,  down  stairs  and 
up,  and  of  all  the  lavender-smelling  old-fashioned- 
ness  anybody  ever  dreamed  of,  this  little  house 
has  as  much  as  it  can  hold.  It  is  fitted  up  all 
through  like  one  of  your  mother's  bonnets,  which 
she  bought  before  she  was  married  and  never  wore 
on  account  of  a  funeral  in  the  family,  but  kept  shut 
up  in  a  box,  which  she  only  opens  now  and  then  to 
show  to  her  descendants.  In  every  room  and  on  the 
stairs  there  was  a  general  air  of  antiquated  freshness, 
mingled  with  the  odors  of  English  breakfast  tea  and 
recollections  of  the  story  of  Cranford,  which,  if  Jone 
and  me  had  been  alone,  would  have  made  me  dance 
from  the  garret  of  that  house  to  the  cellar.  Every 
sentiment  of  romance  that  I  had  in  my  soul  bubbled 
to  the  surface,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  was  one  of  my  ances 
tors  before  she  emigrated  to  the  colonies.  I  could 
not  say  what  I  thought,  but  I  pinched  Jone's  arm 
whenever  I  could  get  a  chance,  which  relieved  me  a 
little ;  and  when  Miss  Pondar  had  come  to  me  with 
a  little  courtesy,  and  asked  me  what  time  I  would 
like  to  have  dinner,  and  told  me  what  she  had  taken 
the  liberty  of  ordering,  so  as  to  have  everything 
ready  by  the  time  I  came,  and  Mrs.  Shutterfield  had 
gone,  after  begging  to  know  what  more  she  could  do 
for  us,  and  we  had  gone  to  our  own  room,  I  let  out 
my  feelings  in  one  wild  scream  of  delirious  gladness 


Pomona  s    Travels  47 

that  would  have  been  heard  all  the  way  to  the  rail 
road  station  if  I  had  not  covered  my  head  with  two 
pillows  and  the  corner  of  a  blanket. 

After  we  had  dinner,  which  was  as  English  as  the 
British  lion,  and  much  more  to  our  taste  than  any 
thing  we  had  had  in  London,  Jone  went  out  to 
smoke  a  pipe,  and  I  had  a  talk  with  Miss  Pondar 
about  fish,  meat,  and  groceries,  and  about  house 
keeping  matters  in  general.  Miss  Pondar,  whose 
general  aspect  of  minister's  wife  began  to  wear  off 
when  I  talked  to  her,  mingles  respectfulness  and 
respectability  in  a  manner  I  haven't  been  in  the 
habit  of  seeing.  Generally  those  two  things  run 
against  each  other,  but  they  don't  in  her. 

When  she  asked  what  kind  of  wine  we  preferred 
I  must  say  I  was  struck  all  in  a  heap,  for  wines  to 
Jone  and  me  is  like  a  trackless  wilderness  without 
compass  or  binnacle  light,  and  we  seldom  drink  them 
except  made  hot,  with  nutmeg  grated  in,  for  colic ; 
but  as  I  wanted  her  to  understand  that  if  there  was 
any  luxuries  we  didn't  order  it  was  because  we  didn't 
approve  of  them,  I  told  her  that  we  was  total  ab 
stainers,  and  at  that  she  smiled  very  pleasant  and  said 
that  was  her  persuasion  also,  and  that  she  was  glad 
not  to  be  obliged  to  handle  intoxicating  drinks, 
though,  of  course,  she  always  did  it  without  objection 
when  the  family  used  them.  When  I  told  Jone  this 
he  looked  a  little  blank,  for  foreign  water  generally 
doesn't  agree  with  him.  I  mentioned  this  afterwards 


48  Pomonas    Travels 

to  Miss  Pondar,  and  she  said  it  was  very  common  in 
total  abstaining  families,  when  water  didn't  agree 
with  any  one  of  them,  especially  if  it  happened  to 
be  the  gentleman,  to  take  a  little  good  Scotch 
whiskey  with  it ;  but  when  I  told  this  to  Jone  he 
said  he  would  try  to  bear  up  under  the  shackles  of 
abstinence. 

This  morning,  when  I  was  talking  with  Miss  Pon 
dar  about  fish,  and  trying  to  show  her  that  I  knew 
something  about  the  names  of  English  fishes,  I  said 
that  we  was  very  fond  of  whitebait.  At  this  she 
looked  astonished  for  the  first  time. 

"  Whitebait  ? "  said  she.  "  We  always  looked 
upon  that  as  belonging  entirely  to  the  nobility  and 
gentry."  At  this  my  back  began  to  bristle,  but  I 
didn't  let  her  know  it,  and  I  said,  in  a  tone  of 
emphatic  mildness,  that  we  would  have  whitebait 
twice  a  week,  on  Tuesday  and  Friday.  At  this  Miss 
Pondar  gave  a  little  courtesy  and  thanked  me  very 
much,  and  said  she  would  attend  to  it. 

When  Jone  and  me  came  back  after  taking  a  long 
walk  that  morning  I  saw  a  pair  of  Church  of  England 
prayer-books,  looking  as  if  they  had  just  been  neatly 
dusted,  lying  on  the  parlor  table,  where  they  hadn't 
been  before,  for  I  had  carefully  looked  over  every 
book.  I  think  that  when  it  was  borne  in  upon  Miss 
Pondar's  soul  that  we  was  accustomed  to  having 
whitebait  as  a  regular  thing  she  made  up  her  mind 
we  was  all  right,  and  that  nothing  but  the  Estab- 


Pomona 's   Travels  49 

lished  Church  would  do  for  us.  Before,  she  might 
have  thought  we  was  Wesleyans. 

Our  maid  Hannah  is  very  nice  to  look  at,  and 
does  her  work  as  well  as  anybody  could  do  it,  and, 
like  most  other  English  servants,  she's  in  a  state  of 
never-ending  thankfulness,  but  as  I  can  never  under 
stand  a  word  she  says  except  "  Thank  you  very 
much,"  I  asked  Jone  if  he  didn't  think  it  would  be 
a  good  thing  for  me  to  try  to  teach  her  a  little 
English. 

"  Now  then,"  said  he,  "  that's  the  opening  of  a 
big  subject.  Wait  until  I  fill  my  pipe  and  we'll 
discourse  upon  it."  It  was  just  after  luncheon,  and 
we  was  sitting  in  the  summer-house  at  the  end  of 
the  garden,  looking  out  over  the  roses  and  pinks 
and  all  sorts  of  old-timey  flowers  growing  as  thick 
as  clover  heads,  with  an  air  as  if  it  wasn't  the  least 
trouble  in  the  world  to  them  to  flourish  and  blossom. 
Beyond  the  flowers  was  a  little  brook  with  the  ducks 
swimming  in  it,  and  beyond  that  was  a  field,  and  on 
the  other  side  of  that  field  was  a  park  belonging  to 
the  lord  of  the  manor,  and  scattered  about  the  side 
of  a  green  hill  in  the  park  was  a  herd  of  his  lordship's 
deer.  Most  of  them  was  so  light-colored  that  I 
fancied  I  could  almost  see  through  them,  as  if  they 
was  the  little  transparent  bugs  that  crawl  about  on 
leaves.  That  isn't  a  romantic  idea  to  have  about 
deers,  but  I  can't  get  rid  of  the  notion  whenever  I 
see  those  little  creatures  walking  about  on  the  hills. 


50  Pomonds   Travels 

At  that  time  it  was  hardly  raining  at  all,  just  a 
little  mist,  with  the  sun  coming  into  the  summer- 
house  every  now  and  then,  making  us  feel  very  com 
fortable  and  contented. 

"  Now,"  said  Jone,  when  he  had  got  his  pipe  well 
started,  "what  I  want  to  talk  about  is  the  amount 
of  reformation  we  expect  to  do  while  we're  sojourn 
ing  in  the  kingdom  of  Great  Britain." 

"  Reformation  !  "  said  I  ;  "we  didn't  come  here  to 
reform  anything." 

"Well,"  said  Jone,  "if  we're  going  to  busy  our 
minds  with  these  people's  shortcomings  and  long- 
goings,  and  don't  try  to  reform  them,  we're  just 
worrying  ourselves  and  doing  them  no  good,  and  I 
don't  think  it  will  pay.  Now,  for  instance,  there's 
that  rosy-cheeked  Hannah.  She's  satisfied  with  her 
way  of  speaking  English,  and  Miss  Pondar  under 
stands  it  and  is  satisfied  with  it,  and  all  the  people 
around  here  are  satisfied  with  it.  As  for  us,  we 
know,  when  she  comes  and  stands  in  the  doorway 
and  dimples  up  her  cheeks,  and  then  makes  those 
sounds  that  are  more  like  drops  of  molasses  falling 
on  a  gong  than  anything  else  I  know  of,  we  know 
that  she  is  telling  us  in  her  own  way  that  the  next 
meal,  whatever  it  is,  is  ready,  and  we  go  to  it." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "  and  as  I  do  most  of  my  talking 
with  Miss  Pondar,  and  as  we  shall  be  here  for  such 
a  short  time  anyway,  it  may  be  as  well — 

"  What  I  say  about  Hannah,"  said  Jone,  inter- 


Pomona  s    Travels  5 1 

rupting  me  as  soon  as  I  began  to  speak  about  a 
short  stay,  "  I  have  to  say  about  everything  else  in 
England  that  doesn't  suit  us.  As  long  as  Hannah 
doesn't  try  to  make  us  speak  in  her  fashion  I  say  let 
her  alone.  Of  course,  we  shall  find  a  lot  of  things 
over  here  that  we  shall  not  approve  of — we  knew 
that  before  we  came — and  when  we  find  we  can't 
stand  their  ways  and  manners  any  longer  we  can 
pack  up  and  go  home,  but  so  far  as  I'm  concerned 
I'm  getting  along  very  comfortable  so  far." 

"Oh,  so  am  I,"  I  said  to  him,  "and  as  to  inter 
fering  with  other  people's  fashions,  I  don't  want 
to  do  it.  If  I  was  to  meet  the  most  paganish  of 
heathens  entering  his  temple  with  suitable  humble 
ness  I  wouldn't  hurt  his  feelings  on  the  subject  of  his 
religion,  unless  I  was  a  missionary  and  went  about  it 
systematic;  but  if  that  heathen  turned  on  me  and 
jeered  at  me  for  attending  our  church  at  home,  and 
told  me  I  ought  to  go  down  on  my  marrow-bones 
before  his  brazen  idols,  I'd  whang  him  over  the  head 
with  a  frying-pan  or  anything  else  that  came  handy. 
That's  the  sort  of  thing  I  can't  stand.  As  long  as 
the  people  here  don't  snort  and  sniff  at  my  ways  I 
won't  snort  and  sniff  at  theirs." 

"Well,"  said  Jone,  "that  is  a  good  rule,  but  I 
don't  know  that  it's  going  to  work  altogether.  You 
see,  there  are  a  good  many  people  in  this  country 
and  only  two  of  us,  and  it  will  be  a  lot  harder 
for  them  to  keep  from  sniffing  and  snorting  than 


52  Pomona  s    Travels 

for  us  to  do  it.  So  it's  my  opinion  that  if  we  expect 
to  get  along  in  a  good-humored  and  friendly  way, 
which  is  the  only  decent  way  of  living,  we've  got  to 
hold  up  our  end  of  the  business  a  little  higher  than 
we  expect  other  people  to  hold  up  theirs." 

I  couldn't  agree  altogether  with  Jone  about  our 
trying  to  do  better  than  other  people,  but  I  said 
that  as  the  British  had  been  kind  enough  to  make 
their  country  free  to  us,  we  wouldn't  look  a  gift 
horse  in  the  mouth  unless  it  kicked.  To  which 
Jone  said  I  sometimes  got  my  figures  of  speech 
hind  part  foremost,  but  he  knew  what  I  meant. 

We've  lived  in  our  cottage  two  weeks,  and  every 
morning  when  I  get  up  and  open  our  windows, 
which  has  little  panes  set  in  strips  of  lead,  and  hinges 
on  one  side  so  that  it  works  like  a  door,  and  look  out 
over  the  brook  and  the  meadows  and  the  thatched 
roofs,  and  see  the  peasant  men  with  their  short 
jackets  and  woollen  caps,  and  the  lower  part  of  their 
trousers  tied  round  with  twine,  if  they  don't  happen 
to  have  leather  leggings,  trudging  to  their  work,  my 
soul  is  filled  with  welling  emotions  as  I  think  that  if 
Queen  Elizabeth  ever  travelled  along  this  way  she 
must  have  seen  these  great  old  trees  and,  perhaps, 
some  of  these  very  houses ;  and  as  to  the  people, 
they  must  have  been  pretty  much  the  same,  though 
differing  a  little  in  clothes,  I  dare  say;  but,  judging 
from  Hannah,  perhaps  not  very  much  in  the  kind  of 
English  they  spoke. 


Pomona  s    Travels  53 

I  declare  that  when  Jone  and  me  walk  about 
through  the  village,  and  over  the  fields,  for  there  is 
a  right  of  way — meaning  a  little  path — through  most 
all  of  them,  and  when  we  go  into  the  old  church, 
with  its  yew-trees,  and  its  gravestones,  and  its 
marble  effigies  of  two  of  the  old  manor  lords,  both 
stretched  flat  on  their  backs,  as  large  as  life,  the 
gentleman  with  the  end  of  his  nose  knocked  off  and 
with  his  feet  crossed  to  show  he  was  a  crusader,  and 
the  lady  with  her  hands  clasped  in  front  of  her,  as  if 
she  expected  the  generations  who  came  to  gaze  on 
her  tomb  to  guess  what  she  had  inside  of  them,  I 
feel  like  a  character  in  a  novel. 

I  have  kept  a  great  many  of  my  joyful  sentiments 
to  myself,  because  Jone  is  too  well  contented  as  it  is, 
and  there  is  a  great  deal  yet  to  be  seen  in  England. 
Sometimes  we  hire  a  dogcart  and  a  black  horse 
named  Punch,  from  the  inn  in  the  village,  and  we 
take  long  drives  over  roads  that  are  almost  as 
smooth  as  bowling  alleys.  The  country  is  very 
hilly,  and  every  time  we  get  to  the  top  of  a  hill  we 
can  see,  spread  about  us  for  miles  and  miles,  the 
beautiful  hills  and  vales,  and  lordly  residences  and 
cottages,  and  steeple  tops,  looking  as  though  they 
had  been  stuck  down  here  and  there,  to  show  where 
villages  had  been  planted. 


Letter  Number  Five 


CHEDCOMBE 

HIS  morning,  when  Jone  was  out  tak 
ing  a  walk  and  I  was  talking  to  Miss 
Pondar,  and  getting  her  to  teach  me 
how  to  make  Devonshire  clotted  cream,  which  we 
have  for  every  meal,  putting  it  on  everything  it  will 
go  on,  into  everything  it  will  go  into,  and  eating  it 
by  itself  when  there  is  nothing  it  will  go  on  or  into  ; 
and  trying  to  find  out  why  it  is  that  whitings  are 
always  brought  on  the  table  with  their  tails  stuck 
through  their  throats,  as  if  they  had  committed 
suicide  by  cutting  their  jugular  veins  in  this  fash 
ion,  I  saw,  coming  along  the  road  to  our  cottage,  a 
pretty  little  dogcart  with  two  ladies  in  it.  The 
horse  they  drove  was  a  pony,  and  the  prettiest 
creature  I  ever  saw,  being  formed  like  a  full-sized 
horse,  only  very  small,  and  with  as  much  fire  and 


Pomona  s    Travels  55 

spirit  and  gracefulness  as  could  be  got  into  an 
animal  sixteen  hands  high.  I  heard  afterward  that 
he  came  from  Exmoor,  which  is  about  twelve  miles 
from  here,  and  produces  ponies  and  deers  of  similar 
size  and  swiftness.  They  stopped  at  the  door,  and 
one  of  them  got  out  and  came  in.  Miss  Pondar 
told  me  she  wished  to  see  me,  and  that  she  was 
Mrs.  Locky,  of  the  "  Bordley  Arms  "  in  the  village. 

"  The  innkeeper's  wife  ?"  said  I  ;  to  which  Miss 
Pondar  said  it  was,  and  I  went  into  the  parlor.  Mrs. 
Locky  was  a  handsome-looking  lady,  and  wearing 
as  stylish  clothes  as  if  she  was  a  duchess,  and  ex 
tremely  polite  and  respectful. 

She  said  she  would  have  asked  Mrs.  Shutterfield 
to  come  with  her  and  introduce  her,  but  that  lady 
was  away  from  home,  and  so  she  had  come  by  her 
self  to  ask  me  a  very  great  favor. 

When  I  begged  her  to  sit  down  and  name  it  she 
went  on  to  say  there  had  come  that  morning  to  the 
inn  a  very  large  party  in  a  coach-and-four,  that  was 
making  a  trip  through  the  country,  and  as  they 
didn't  travel  on  Sunday  they  wanted  to  stay  at  the 
"  Bordley  Arms  "  until  Monday  morning. 

"  Now,  "  said  she,  "  that  puts  me  to  a  dreadful  lot 
of  trouble,  because  I  haven't  room  to  accommodate 
them  all,  and  even  if  I  could  get  rooms  for  them 
somewhere  else  they  don't  want  to  be  separated. 
But  there  is  one  of  the  best  rooms  at  the  inn  which 
is  occupied  by  an  elderly  gentleman,  and  if  I  could 


56  Pomona  s   Travels 

get  that  room  I  could  put  two  double  beds  in  it 
and  so  accommodate  the  whole  party.  Now,  know 
ing  that  you  had  a  pleasant  chamber  here  that  you 
don't  use,  I  thought  I  would  make  bold  to  come 
and  ask  you  if  you  would  lodge  Mr.  Poplington 
until  Monday?" 

"  What  sort  of  a  person  is  this  Mr.  Poplington, 
and  is  he  willing  to  come  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  haven't  asked  him  yet,"  said  she,  "  but  he 
is  so  extremely  good-natured  that  I  know  he  will 
be  glad  to  come  here.  He  has  often  asked  me  who 
lived  in  this  extremely  picturesque  cottage.  " 

"You  must  have  an  answer  now?"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  yes,  "  said  she,  "  for  if  you  cannot  do  me  this 
favor  I  must  go  somewhere  else,  and  where  to  go  I 
don't  know. " 

Now  I  had  begun  to  think  that  the  one  thing  we 
wanted  in  this  little  home  of  ours  was  company,  and 
that  it  was  a  great  pity  to  have  that  nice  bedroom 
on  the  second  floor  entirely  wasted,  with  nobody 
ever  in  it.  So,  as  far  as  I  was  concerned,  I  would  be 
very  glad  to  have  some  pleasant  person  in  the  house, 
at  least  for  a  day  or  two,  and  I  didn't  believe  Jone 
would  object.  At  any  rate  it  would  put  a  stop,  at 
least  for  a  little  while,  to  his  eternally  saying  how 
Corinne,  our  daughter,  would  enjoy  that  room,  and 
how  nice  it  would  be  if  we  was  to  take  this  house 
for  the  rest  of  the  season  and  send  for  her.  Now, 
Corinne's  as  happy  as  she  can  be  at  her  grand- 


Pomona  s    Travels 


57 


mother's  farm,  and  her  school  will  begin  before  we're 
ready  to  come  home,  and,  what  is  more,  we  didn't 
come  here  to  spend  all  our  time  in  one  place. 

While  I  was  thinking  of  these  things  I  was  look 
ing  out  of  the  window  at  the  lady  in  the  dogcart 


"The  young  lady  who  keeps  the  bar" 

who  was  holding  the  reins.  She  was  as  pretty  as  a 
picture,  and  wore  a  great  straw  hat  with  lovely 
flowers  in  it.  As  I  had  to  give  an  answer  without 
waiting  for  Jone  to  come  home,  and  I  didn't  expect 
him  until  luncheon  time,  I  concluded  to  be  neigh- 


5  8  Pomona  s    Travels 

borly,  and  said  we  would  take  the  gentleman  to 
oblige  her,.  Even  if  the  arrangement  didn't  suit 
him  or  us,  it  wouldn't  matter  much  for  that  little 
time.  At  which  Mrs.  Locky  was  very  grateful 
indeed,  and  said  she  would  have  Mr.  Poplington's 
luggage  sent  around  that  afternoon,  and  that  he 
would  come  later. 

As  she  got  up  to  go  I  said  to  her,  "  Is  that  young 
lady  out  there  one  of  the  party  who  came  with  the 
coach  and  four?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Locky,  "  she  lives  with  me. 
She  is  the  young  lady  who  keeps  the  bar." 

I  expect  I  opened  my  mouth  and  eyes  pretty 
wide,  for  I  was  never  so  astonished.  A  young  lady 
like  that  keeping  the  bar !  But  I  didn't  want  Mrs. 
Locky  to  know  how  much  I  was  surprised,  and  so 
I  said  nothing  about  it. 

When  they  had  gone  and  I  had  stood  looking 
after  them  for  about  a  minute,  I  remembered  I 
hadn't  asked  whether  Mr.  Poplington  would  want 
to  take  his  meals  here,  or  whether  he  would  go  to 
the  inn  for  them.  To  be  sure,  she  only  asked  me  to 
lodge  him,  but  as  the  inn  is  more  than  half  a  mile 
from  here,  he  may  want  to  be  boarded.  But  this 
will  have  to  be  found  out  when  he  comes,  and  when 
Jone  comes  home  it  will  have  to  be  found  out  what 
he  thinks  about  my  taking  a  lodger  while  he's  out 
taking  a  walk. 


Letter  Number  Six 

CHEDCOMBE,  SOMERSETSHIRE 

WHEN  Jone  came  home  and  I  told  him  a  gentle 
man  was  coming  to  live  with  us,  he  thought  at  first 
I  was  joking  ;  and  when  he  found  out  that  I  meant 
what  I  said  he  looked  very  blue,  and  stood  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  and  his  eyes  on  the  ground, 
considering. 

"  He's  not  going  to  take  his  meals  here,  is 
he?" 

"  I  don't  think  he  expects  that,"  I  said,  "  for  Mrs. 
Locky  only  spoke  of  lodging." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Jone,  looking  as  if  his  clouds 
was  clearing  off  a  little,  "  I  don't  suppose  it  will 
matter  to  us  if  that  room  is  occupied  over  Sunday, 
but  I  think  the  next  time  I  go  out  for  a  stroll  I'll 
take  you  with  me." 

I  didn't  go  out  that  afternoon,  and  sat  on  pins 
and  needles  until  half-past  five  o'clock.  Jone 
wanted  me  to  walk  with  him,  but  I  wouldn't  do  it, 
because  I  didn't  want  our  lodger  to  come  here  and 
be  received  by  Miss  Pondar.  At  half-past  five 
there  came  a  cart  with  the  gentleman's  luggage,  as 
they  call  it  here,  and  I  was  glad  Jone  wasn't  at 
home.  There  was  an  enormous  leather  portman- 


60  Pomona  s   Travels 

teau,  which  looked  as  if  it  had  been  dragged  by  a 
boy  too  short  to  lift  it  from  the  ground,  half  over 
the  world ;  a  hat-box,  also  of  leather,  but  not  so 
draggy  looking;  a  bundle  of  canes  and  umbrellas, 
a  leather  dressing-case,  and  a  flat,  round  bathing- 
tub.  I  had  the  things  taken  up  to  the  room  as 
quickly  as  I  could,  for  if  Jone  had  seen  them  he'd 
think  the  gentleman  was  going  to  bring  his  family 
with  him. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  and  still  broad  daylight  when 
Mr.  Poplington  himself  came,  carrying  a  fishing-rod 
put  up  in  parts  in  a  canvas  bag,  a  fish-basket,  and  a 
small  valise.  He  wore  leather  leggings  and  was  about 
sixty  years  old,  but  a  wonderful  good  walker.  I 
thought,  when  I  saw  him  coming,  that  he  had  no 
rheumatism  whatever,  but  I  found  out  afterward 
that  he  had  a  little  in  one  of  his  arms.  He  had 
white  hair  and  white  side-whiskers  and  a  fine  red  face, 
which  made  me  think  of  a  strawberry  partly  covered 
with  Devonshire  clotted  cream.  Jone  and  I  was 
sitting  in  the  summer-house,  he  smoking  his  pipe, 
and  we  both  went  to  meet  the  gentleman.  He  had 
a  bluff  way  of  speaking,  and  said  he  was  much 
obliged  to  us  for  taking  him  in  ;  and  after  saying 
that  it  was  a  warm  evening,  a  thing  which  I  hadn't 
noticed,  he  asked  to  be  shown  to  his  room.  I  sent 
Hannah  with  him,  and  then  Jone  and  I  went  back 
to  the  summer-house. 

I  didn't  know  exactly  why,   but  I  wasn't  in  as 


Pomona  s   Travels 


61 


good  spirits  as   I  had   been,  and  when  Jone  spoke 
he  didn't  make  me  feel  any  better. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  he,  "  that   I   see  signs  of 


see   signs  of  weakening  in  the  social   boom 


weakening  in  the  social  boom.  That  man  considers 
us  exactly  as  we  considered  our  lodging-house 
keeper  in  London.  Now,  it  doesn't  strike  me  that 
that  sample  person  you  was  talking  about,  who  is  a 


62  Pomona  s   Travels 

cross  between  a  rich  farmer  and  a  poor  gentleman, 
would  go  into  the  lodging-house  business."  I 
couldn't  help  agreeing  with  Jone,  and  I  didn't  like  it 
a  bit.  The  gentleman  hadn't  said  anything  or  done 
anything  that  was  out  of  the  way,  but  there  was  a 
benignant  loftiness  about  him  which  grated  on  the 
inmost  fibres  of  my  soul. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  said  I,  turning  sharp 
on  Jone,  "  we  won't  charge  him  a  cent.  That'll  take 
him  down,  and  show  him  what  wre  are.  We'll  give 
him  the  room  as  a  favor  to  Mrs.  Locky,  considering 
her  in  the  light  of  a  neighbor  and  one  who  sent  us 
a  cucumber.*' 

"All  right,"  said  Jone,  "I  like  that  way  of 
arranging  the  business.  Up  goes  the  social  boom 
again ! " 

Just  as  we  was  going  up  to  bed  Miss  Pondar 
came  to  me  and  said  that  the  gentleman  had  called 
down  to  her  and  asked  if  he  could  have  a  new-laid 
egg  for  his  breakfast,  and  she  asked  if  she  should 
send  Hannah  early  in  the  morning  to  see  if  she 
could  get  a  perfectly  fresh  egg  from  one  of  the  cot 
tages.  "  I  thought,  ma'am,  that  perhaps  you  might 
object  to  buying  things  on  Sunday." 

"  I  do,"  I  said.  "  Does  that  Mr.  Poplington  expect 
to  have  his  breakfast  here?  I  only  took  him  to 
lodge." 

"  Oh,  ma'am,"  said  Miss  Pondar,  "  they  always 
takes  their  breakfasts  where  they  has  their  rooms. 


Pomona  s   Travels  63 

Dinner  and  luncheon  is  different,  and  he  may  expect 
to  go  to  the  inn  for  them." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  I.  "  I  think  he  may,  and  if  he 
breakfasts  here  he  can  take  what  we've  got.  If  the 
eggs  are  not  fresh  enough  for  him  he  can  try  to  get 
along  with  some  bacon.  He  can't  expect  that  to  be 
fresh." 

Knowing  that  English  people  take  their  breakfast 
late,  Jone  and  I  got  up  early,  so  as  to  get  through 
before  our  lodger  came  down.  But,  bless  me,  when 
we  went  to  the  front  door  to  see  what  sort  of  a  day 
it  was  we  saw  him  coming  in  from  a  walk.  "  Fine 
morning,"  said  he,  and  in  fact  there  was  only  a  little 
drizzle  of  rain,  which  might  stop  when  the  sun  got 
higher  ;  and  he  stood  near  us  and  began  to  talk  about 
the  trout  in  the  stream,  which,  to  my  utter  amaze 
ment,  he  called  a  river. 

"  Do  you  take  your  license  by  the  day  or  week?" 
he  said  to  Jone. 

"  License  !  "  said  Jone,  "  I  don't  fish." 

"  Really  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Poplington.  "  Oh,  I 
see,  you  are  a  cycler." 

"No,"  said  Jone,  "  I'm  not  that,  either,  I'm  a 
pervader." 

"  Really  !  "  said  the  old  gentleman :  "  what  do 
you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  I  pervade  the  scenery,  sometimes 
on  foot  and  sometimes  in  a  trap.  That's  my  style 
of  rural  pleasuring." 


64  Pomona  s   Travels 

"  But  you  do  fish  at  home/'  I  said  to  Jone,  not 
wishing  the  English  gentleman  to  think  my  hus 
band  was  a  city  man,  who  didn't  know  anything 
about  sport. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Jone,  "  I  used  to  fish  for  perch 
and  sunfish." 

"  Sunfish?"  said  Mr.  Poplington.  "  I  don't  know 
that  fish  at  all.  What  sort  of  a  fly  do  you  use  ?  " 

"  I  don't  fish  with  any  flies  at  all,"  said  Jone  ;  "  I 
bait  my  hook  with  worms." 

Mr.  Poplington's  face  looked  as  if  he  had  poured 
liquid  shoe-blacking  on  his  meat,  thinking  it  was 
Worcestershire  sauce.  "  Fancy  !  Worms !  I'd 
never  take  a  rod  in  my  hands  if  I  had  to  use  worms. 
Never  used  a  worm  in  my  life.  There's  no  sort  of 
science  in  worm  fishing." 

"  There's  double  sport,"  said  Jone,  "  for  first 
you've  got  to  catch  your  worm.  Then  again,  I  hate 
shams ;  if  you  have  to  catch  fish  there's  no  use 
cheating  them  into  the  bargain." 

"  Cheat!"  cried  Mr.  Poplington.  "If  I  had 
to  catch  a  whale  I'd  fish  for  him  with  a  fly.  But 
you  Americans  are  strange  people.  Worms,  in 
deed  !  " 

"  We  don't  all  use  worms,"  said  Jone  ;  "  there's 
lots  of  fly  fishers  in  America,  and  they  use  all  sorts 
of  flies.  If  we  are  to  believe  all  the  Californians 
tell  us  some  of  the  artificial  flies  out  there  must  be 
as  big  as  crows." 


Pomona  s    Travels  65 

"  Really  ?  "  said  Mr.  Poplington,  looking  hard  at 
Jone,  with  a  little  twinkling  in  his  eyes.  "  And 
when  gentlemen  fish  who  don't  like  to  cheat  the 
fishes,  what  size  of  worms  do  they  use  ?" 

"Well,"  said  Jone,  "  in  the  far  West  I've  heard 
that  the  common  black  snake  is  the  favorite  bait. 
He's  six  or  seven  feet  long,  and  fishermen  that  use 
him  don't  have  to  have  any  line.  He's  bait  and 
line  all  in  one." 

Mr.  Poplington  laughed.  "  I  see  you  are  fond  of 
a  joke,"  said  he,  "  and  so  am  I,  but  I'm  also  fond 
of  my  breakfast." 

"  I'm  with  you  there,"  said  Jone,  and  we  all 
went  in. 

Mr.  Poplington  was  very  pleasant  and  chatty, 
and  of  course  asked  a  great  many  questions  about 
America.  Nearly  all  English  people  I've  met  want 
to  talk  about  our  country,  and  it  seems  to  me  that 
what  they  do  know  about  it  isn't  any  better,  con 
sidered  as  useful  information,  than  what  they  don't 
know.  But  Mr.  Poplington  has  never  been  to 
America,  and  so  he  knows  more  about  us  than 
those  Englishmen  who  come  over  to  write  books, 
and  only  have  time  to  run  around  the  outside  of 
things,  and  get  themselves  tripped  up  on  our  rag 
ged  edges. 

He  said  he  had  met  a  good  many  Americans,  and 
liked  them,  but  he  couldn't  see  for  the  life  of  him 
why  they  do  some  things  English  people  don't  do, 


66  Pomona  s   Travels 

and  don't  do  things  English  people  do  do.  For 
instance,  he  wondered  why  we  don't  drink  tea  for 
breakfast.  Miss  Pondar  had  made  it  for  him,  know 
ing  he'd  want  it,  and  he  wonders  why  Americans 
drink  coffee  when  such  good  tea  as  that  was  comes 
in  their  reach. 

Now,  if  I  had  considered  Mr.  Poplington  as  a 
lodger  it  might  have  nettled  me  to  have  him  tell 
me  I  didn't  know  what  was  good,  but  remembering 
that  we  was  giving  him  hospitality,  and  not  board, 
and  didn't  intend  to  charge  him  a  cent,  but  was 
just  taking  care  of  him  out  of  neighborly  kindness, 
I  was  rather  glad  to  have  him  find  a  little  fault, 
because  that  would  make  me  feel  as  if  I  was  soar 
ing  still  higher  above  him  the  next  morning,  when  I 
should  tell  him  there  was  nothing  to  pay. 

So  I  took  it  all  good-natured,  and  said  to  him, 
u  Well,  Americans  like  to  have  the  very  best  things 
that  can  be  got  out  of  every  country.  We're  like 
bees  flying  over  the  whole  world,  looking  into  every 
blossom  to  see  what  sweetness  there  is  to  be  got 
out  of  it.  From  the  lily  of  France  we  sip  their 
coffee,  from  the  national  flower  of  India,  whatever 
it  is,  we  take  their  chutney  sauce,  and  as  to  those 
big  apple  tarts,  baked  in  a  deep  dish,  with  a  cup  in 
the  middle  to  hold  up  the  upper  crust,  and  so  full 
of  apples,  and  so  delicious  with  Devonshire  clotted 
cream  on  them  that  if  there  was  any  one  place  in 
the  world  they  could  be  had  I  believe  my  husband 


Pomona  s   Travels  67 

would  want  to  go  and  live  there  forever,  they  are 
what  we  extract  from  the  rose  of  England." 

Mr.  Poplington  laughed  like  anything  at  this,  but 
said  there  was  a  great  many  other  things  that  he 
could  show  us  and  tell  us  about  which  would  be 
very  well  worth  while  sipping  from  the  rose  of 
England. 

After  breakfast  he  went  to  church  with  us,  and 
as  we  was  coming  home — for  he  didn't  seem  to  have 
the  least  idea  of  going  to  the  inn  for  his  luncheon — 
he  asked  if  we  didn't  find  the  services  very  different 
from  those  in  America. 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  they  are  about  as  different  from 
Quaker  services  as  a  squirting  fountain  is  from  a 
corked  bottle.  The  Methodists  and  Unitarians  and 
Reformed  Dutch  and  Campbellites  and  Hard-shell 
Baptists  have  different  services  too,  but  in  the 
Episcopal  churches  things  are  all  pretty  much  the 
same  as  they  did  this  morning.  You  forget,  sir, 
that  in  our  country  there  are  religions  to  suit  all 
sizes  of  minds.  We  haven't  any  national  religion 
any  more  than  we  have  a  national  flower." 

"  But  you  ought  to  have,"  said  he  ;  "  you  ought 
to  have  an  established  church." 

"  You  may  be  sure  we'll  have  it,"  said  Jone,  "  as 
soon  as  we  agree  as  to  which  one  it  ought  to  be." 


Letter  Number  Seven 

CHEDCOMBE,  SOMERSETSHIRE 

LAST  Sunday  afternoon  Mr.  Poplington  asked  us 
if  we  would  not  like  to  walk  over  to  a  ruined  abbey 
about  four  miles  away,  which  he  said  was  very  inter 
esting.  It  seemed  to  me  that  four  miles  there  and 
four  miles  back  was  a  pretty  long  walk,  but  I  wanted 
to  see  the  abbey,  and  I  wasn't  going  to  let  him  think 
that  a  young  American  woman  couldn't  walk  as  far 
as  an  elderly  English  gentleman;  so  I  agreed  and  so 
did  Jone.  The  abbey  is  a  wonderful  place,  and  I 
never  thought  of  being  tired  while  wandering  in 
the  rooms  and  in  the  garden,  where  the  old  monks 
used  to  live  and  preach,  and  give  food  to  the  poor, 
and  keep  house  without  women — which  was  pious 
enough,  but  must  have  been  untidy.  But  the  thing 
that  surprised  me  the  most  was  what  Mr.  Poplington 
told  us  about  the  age  of  the  place.  It  was  not  built 
all  at  once,  and  it's  part  ancient  and  part  modern, 
and  you  needn't  wonder,  madam,  that  I  was  aston 
ished  when  he  said  that  the  part  called  modern  was 
finished  just  three  years  before  America  was  discov 
ered.  When  I  heard  that  I  seemed  to  shrivel  up  as 
if  my  country  was  a  new-born  babe  alongside  of  a 
bearded  patriarch;  but  I  didn't  stay  shrivelled  long, 


AT  THE  ABBEY 


Pomona  s    Travels  7 1 

for  it  can't  be  denied  that  a  new-born  babe  has  a 
good  deal  more  to  look  forward  to  than  a  patriarch 
has. 

It  is  amazing  how  many  things  in  this  part  of  the 
country  we'd  never  have  thought  of  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  Mr.  Poplington.  At  dinner  he  told  us  about  Ex- 
moor  and  the  Lorna  Doone  country,  and  the  wild 
deer  hunting  that  can  be  had  nowhere  else  in  Eng 
land,  and  lots  of  other  things  that  made  me  feel  we 
must  be  up  and  doing  if  we  wanted  to  see  all  we 
ought  to  see  before  we  left  Chedcombe.  When  I 
went  upstairs  I  said  to  Jone  that  Mr.  Poplington  was 
a  very  different  man  from  what  I  thought  he  was. 

"  He's  just  as  nice  as  he  can  be,  and  I'm  going 
to  charge  him  for  his  room  and  his  meals  and  for 
everything  he's  had." 

Jone  laughed,  and  asked  me  if  that  was  the  way  I 
showed  people  I  liked  them. 

"  We  intended  to  humble  him  by  not  charging 
him  anything,"  I  said,  "  and  make  him  feel  he  had 
been  depending  on  our  bounty;  but  now  I  wouldn't 
hurt  his  feelings  for  the  world,  and  I'll  make  out  his 
bill  in  the  morning  myself.  Women  always  do  that 
sort  of  thing  in  England." 

As  you  asked  me,  madam,  to  tell  you  everything 
that  happened  on  our  travels,  I'll  go  on  about  Mr. 
Poplington.  After  breakfast  on  Monday  morning 
he  went  over  to  the  inn,  and  said  he  would  come 
back  and  pack  up  his  things ;  but  when  he  did  come 


72  Pomona  s    Travels 

back  he  told  us  that  those  coach-and-four  people  had 
determined  not  to  leave  Chedcombe  that  day,  but 
was  going  to  stay  and  look  at  the  sights  in  the  neigh 
borhood,  and  that  they  would  want  the  room  for 
that  night.  He  said  this  had  made  him  very  angry, 
because  they  had  no  right  to  change  their  minds 
that  way  after  having  made  definite  arrangements 
in  which  other  people  besides  themselves  was  con 
cerned  ;  and  he  had  said  so  very  plainly  to  the  gentle 
man  who  seemed  to  be  at  the  head  of  the  party. 

"  I  hope  it  will  be  no  inconvenience  to  you, 
madam,"  he  said,  "  to  keep  me  another  night." 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,"  said  I  ;  "  and  my  husband  was  say 
ing  this  morning  that  he  wished  you  was  going  to 
stay  with  us  the  rest  of  our  time  here." 

"Really!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Poplington.  "  Then  I'll 
do  it.  I'll  go  to  the  inn  this  minute  and  have  the 
rest  of  my  luggage  brought  over  here.  If  this  is  any 
punishment  to  Mrs.  Locky  she  deserves  it,  for  she 
shouldn't  have  told  those  people  they  could  stay 
longer  without  consulting  me." 

In  less  than  an  hour  there  came  a  van  to  our  cot 
tage  with  the  rest  of  his  luggage.  There  must  have 
been  over  a  dozen  boxes  and  packages,  besides  things 
tied  up  and  strapped ;  and  as  I  saw  them  being 
carried  up  one  at  a  time,  I  said  to  Miss  Pondar  that 
in  our  country  we'd  have  two  or  three  big  trunks, 
which  we  could  take  about  without  any  trouble. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  she ;  but  I  could  see  by  her 


Pomona  s    Travels  73 

face  that  she  didn't  believe  luggage  would  be  lug 
gage  unless  you  could  lug  it,  but  was  too  respectful 
to  say  so. 

When  Mr.  Poplington  got  settled  down  in  our 
spare  room  he  blossomed  out  like  a  full-blown  friend 
of  the  family,  and  accordingly  began  to  give  us 
advice.  He  said  we  should  go  as  soon  as  we  could 
and  see  Exmoor  and  all  that  region  of  country,  and 
that  if  we  didn't  mind  he'd  like  to  go  with  us ;  to 
which  we  answered,  of  course,  we  should  like  that 
very  much,  and  asked  him  what  he  thought  would 
be  the  best  way  to  go.  So  we  had  ever  so  much 
talk  about  that,  and  although  we  all  agreed  it  would 
be  nicer  not  to  take  a  public  coach,  but  travel 
private,  we  didn't  find  it  easy  to  decide  as  to  the 
manner  of  travel.  We  all  agreed  that  a  carriage 
and  horses  would  be  too  expensive,  and  Jone  was 
rather  in  favor  of  a  dogcart  for  us  if  Mr.  Poplington 
would  like  to  go  on  horseback  ;  but  the  old  gentle 
man  said  it  would  be  too  much  riding  for  him,  and 
if  we  took  a  dogcart  he'd  have  to  take  another  one. 
But  this  wouldn't  be  a  very  sociable  way  of  travel 
ling,  and  none  of  us  liked  it. 

"  Now,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Poplington,  striking  his 
hand  on  the  table,  "  I'll  tell  you  exactly  how  we 
ought  to  go  through  that  country — we  ought  to  go 
on  cycles." 

''Bicycles?"  said  I. 

'•  Tricycles,  if  you  like,"  he  answered,  "  but  that's 


74  Pomona 's   Travels 

the  way  to  do  it.  It'll  be  cheap,  and  we  can  go  as 
we  like  and  stop  when  we  like.  We'll  be  as  free  and 
independent  as  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  and  more  so, 
for  they  can't  always  flap  when  they  like  and  stop 
flapping  when  they  choose.  Have  you  ever  tried  it, 
madam?" 

I  replied  that  I  had,  a  little,  because  my  daughter 
had  a  tricycle,  and  I  had  ridden  on  it  for  a  short 
distance  and  after  sundown,  but  as  for  regular  travel 
in  the  daytime  I  couldn't  think  of  it. 

At  this  Jone  nearly  took  my  breath  away  by  say 
ing  that  he  thought  that  the  bicycle  idea  was  a  cap 
ital  one,  and  that  for  his  part  he'd  like  it  better 
than  any  other  way  of  travelling  through  a  pretty 
country.  He  also  said  he  believed  I  could  work  a 
tricycle  just  as  well  as  not,  and  that  if  I  got  used 
to  it  I  would  think  it  fine. 

I  stood  out  against  those  two  men  for  about  a 
half  an  hour,  and  then  I  began  to  give  in  a  little,  and 
think  that  it  might  be  nice  to  roll  along  on  my  own 
little  wheels  over  their  beautiful  smooth  roads,  and 
stop  and  smell  the  hedges  and  pick  flowers  whenever 
I  felt  like  it ;  and  so  it  ended  in  my  agreeing  to  do 
the  Exmoor  country  on  a  tricycle  while  Mr.  Pop- 
lington  and  Jone  went  on  bicycles.  As  to  getting 
the  machines,  Mr.  Poplington  said  he  would  attend 
to  that.  There  was  people  in  London  who  hired 
them  to  excursionists,  and  all  he  had  to  do  was  to 
send  an  order  and  they  would  be  on  hand  in  a 


Pomona 's   Travels  75 

day  or  two  ;  and  so  that  matter  was  settled  and  he 
wrote  to  London.  I  thought  Mr.  Poplington  was  a 
little  old  for  that  sort  of  exercise,  but  I  found  he  had 
been  used  to  doing  a  great  deal  of  cycling  in  the  part 
of  the  country  where  he  lives ;  and  besides,  he  isn't 
as  old  as  I  thought  he  was,  being  not  much  over 
fifty.  The  kind  of  air  that  keeps  a  country  always 
green  is  wonderful  in  bringing  out  early  red  and 
white  in  a  person. 

"  Everything  happens  wonderfully  well,  madam," 
said  he,  coming  in  after  he  had  been  to  post  his  let 
ter  in  a  red  iron  box  let  into  the  side  of  the  Wesley- 
an  chapel,  "  doesn't  it  ?  Now  here  we're  not  able  to 
start  on  our  journey  for  two  or  three  days,  and  I 
have  just  been  told  that  the  great  hay-making  in  the 
big  meadow  to  the  south  of  the  village  is  to  begin 
to-morrow.  They  make  the  hay  there  only  every 
other  year,  and  they  have  a  grand  time  of  it.  We 
must  be  there,  and  you  shall  see  some  of  our  English 
country  customs." 

We  said  we'd  be  sure  to  be  in  for  that  sort  of  thing. 

I  wish,  madam,  you  could  have  seen  that  great 
hayfield.  It  belongs  to  the  lord  of  the  manor,  and 
must  have  twenty  or  thirty  acres  in  it.  They've 
been  three  or  four  days  cutting  the  grass  on  it  with 
a  machine,  and  now  there's  been  nearly  two  days 
with  hardly  any  rain,  only  now  and  then  some 
drizzling,  and  a  good,  strong  wind,  which  they  think 
here  is  better  for  the  hay-making  than  sunshine, 


76  Pomona  s    Travels 

though  they  don't  object  to  a  little  sun.  All  the 
people  in  the  village  who  had  legs  good  enough  to 
carry  them  to  that  field  went  to  help  make  hay.  It 
was  a  regular  holiday,  and  as  hay  is  clean,  nearly 
everybody  was  dressed  in  good  clothes.  Early  in 
the  morning  some  twenty  regular  farm  laborers 
began  raking  the  hay  at  one  end  of  the  field,  stretch 
ing  themselves  nearly  the  whole  way  across  it,  and 
as  the  day  went  on  more  and  more  people  came, 
men  and  women,  high  and  low.  All  the  young 
women  and  some  of  the  older  ones  had  rakes,  and 
the  way  they  worked  them  was  amazing  to  see,  but 
they  turned  over  the  hay  enough  to  dry  it.  As  to 
schoolgirls  and  boys,  there  was  no  end  of  them  in 
the  afternoon,  for  school  let  out  early.  Some  of 
them  worked,  but  most  of  them  played  and  cut  up 
monkey-shines  on  the  hay.  Even  the  little  babies 
was  brought  on  the  field,  and  nice,  soft  beds  made 
for  them  under  the  trees  at  one  side. 

When  Jone  saw  the  real  farm-work  going  on,  with 
a  chance  for  everybody  to  turn  in  to  help,  his 
farmer  blood  boiled  within  him,  as  if  he  was  a  war- 
horse  and  sniffed  the  smoke  of  battle,  and  he  got 
himself  a  rake  and  went  to  work  like  a  good-fellow. 
I  never  saw  so  many  men  at  work  in  a  hayfield  at 
home,  but  when  I  looked  at  Jone  raking  I  could  see 
why  it  was  it  didn't  take  so  many  men  to  get  in  our 
hay.  As  for  me,  I  raked  a  little,  but  looked  about  a 
great  deal  more. 


Pomona  s   Travels  7  7 

Near  the  middle  of  the  field  was  two  women 
working  together,  raking  as  steadily  as  if  they  had 
been  brought  up  to  it.  One  of  these  was  young, 
and  even  handsomer  than  Miss  Dick,  which  was  the 
name  of  the  bar  lady.  To  look  at  her  made  me 
think  of  what  I  had  read  of  Queen  Marie  Antoi 
nette  and  her  court  ladies  playing  the  part  of  milk 
maids.  Her  straw  hat  was  trimmed  with  delicate 
flowers,  and  her  white  muslin  dress  and  pale  blue 
ribbons  made  her  the  prettiest  picture  I  ever  saw 
out-of-doors.  I  could  not  help  asking  Mrs.  Locky 
who  she  was,  and  she  told  me  that  she  was  the 
chambermaid  at  the  inn,  and  the  other  was  the 
cook.  When  I  heard  this  I  didn't  make  any 
answer,  but  just  walked  off  a  little  way  and  began 
raking  and  thinking.  I  have  often  wondered  why 
it  is  that  English  servants  are  so  different  from 
those  we  have,  or,  to  put  it  in  a  strictly  confidential 
way  between  you  and  me,  madam,  why  the  cham 
bermaid  at  the  "  Bordley  Arms,"  as  she  is,  is  so  dif 
ferent  from  me,  as  I  used  to  be  when  I  first  lived 
with  you.  Now  that  young  chambermaid  with  the 
pretty  hat  is,  as  far  as  appearances  go,  as  good  a 
woman  as  I  am,  and  if  Jone  was  a  bachelor  and 
intended  to  marry  her  I  would  think  it  was  as  good 
a  match  as  if  he  married  me.  But  the  difference 
between  us  two  is  that  when  I  got  to  be  the  kind 
of  woman  I  am  I  wasn't  willing  to  be  a  servant, 
and  if  I  had  always  been  the  kind  of  young  woman 


78  Pomona  s   Travels 

that  chambermaid  is  I  never  would  have  been  a 
servant. 

I've  kept  a  sharp  eye  on  the  young  women  in 
domestic  service  over  here,  having  a  fellow-feeling 
for  them,  as  you  can  well  understand,  madam,  and 
since  I  have  been  in  the  country  I've  watched  the 
poor  folks  and  seen  how  they  live,  and  it's  just  as 
plain  to  me  as  can  be  that  the  young  women  who 
are  maids  and  waitresses  over  here  are  the  kind 
who  would  have  tried  to  be  shop-girls  and  dress 
makers  and  even  school-teachers  in  America,  and 
many  of  the  servants  we  have  would  be  working 
in  the  fields  if  they  lived  over  here.  The  fact  is,  the 
English  people  don't  go  to  other  countries  to  get 
their  servants.  Their  way  is  like  a  factory  consum 
ing  its  own  smoke.  The  surplus  young  women, 
and  there  must  always  be  a  lot  of  them,  are  used  up 
in  domestic  service. 

Now,  if  an  American  poor  girl  is  good  enough  to 
be  a  first-class  servant,  she  wants  to  be  something 
else.  Sooner  than  go  out  to  service  she  will  work 
twice  as  hard  in  a  shop,  or  even  go  into  a  factory. 

I  have  talked  a  good  deal  about  this  to  Jone,  and 
he  says  I'm  getting  to  be  a  philosopher;  but  I  don't 
think  it  takes  much  philosophizing  to  find  out  how 
this  case  stands.  If  house  service  could  be  looked 
upon  in  the  proper  way,  it  wouldn't  take  long  for 
American  girls  who  have  to  work  for  their  living  to 
find  out  that  it's  a  lot  better  to  live  with  nice 


Pomona! s   Travels  79 

people,  and  cook  and  wait  on  the  table,  and  do  all 
those  things  which  come  natural  to  women  the 
world  over,  than  to  stand  all  day  behind  a  counter 
under  the  thumb  of  a  floor-walker,  or  grind  their 
lives  out  like  slaves  among  a  lot  of  steam-engines 
and  machinery.  The  only  reason  the  English  have 
better  house  servants  than  we  have  is  that  here  any 
girl  who  has  to  work  is  willing  to  be  a  house  ser 
vant,  and  very  good  house  servants  they  are,  too. 


Letter  Number  Eight 


CHEDCOMBE 

WILL  now  finish  telling  you  about 
the  great  hay-making  day.  Toward 
the  end  of  the  afternoon  a  lot  of 
boys  and  girls  began  playing  a 
game  which  seemed  to  belong  to  the  hayfield. 
Each  one  of  the  bigger  boys  would  twist  up  a  rope 
of  hay  and  run  after  a  girl,  and  when  he  had  thrown 
it  over  her  neck  he  could  kiss  her.  Girls  are  girls 
the  whole  world  over,  and  it  was  funny  to  see  how 
some  of  them  would  run  like  mad  to  get  away  from 
the  boys,  and  how  dreadfully  troubled  they  would 
be  when  they  was  caught,  and  yet,  after  they  had 
been  kissed  and  'the  boys  had  left  them,  they  would 
walk  innocently  back  to  the  players  as  if  they  never 


Pomona  s    Travels  81 

dreamed  that  anybody  would  think  of  disturbing 
them. 

At  five  o'clock  everybody — farm  hands,  ladies, 
gentlemen,  school-children,  and  all — took  tea  to 
gether.  Some  were  seated  at  long  tables  made  of 
planks,  with  benches  at  the  sides,  and  others  scat 
tered  all  over  the  grass.  Miss  Pondar  and  our  maid 
Hannah  helped  to  serve  the  tea  and  sandwiches, 
and  I  was  glad  to  see  that  Hannah  wore  her 
pointed  white  cap  and  her  black  dress,  for  I  had  on 
my  woollen  travelling  suit,  and  I  didn't  want  too 
much  cart -before- the -horseness  in  my  domestic 
establishment. 

After  tea  the  work  and  the  games  began  again, 
and  as  I  think  it  is  always  better  for  people  to  do 
what  they  can  do  best,  I  turned  in  and  helped  clear 
away  the  tea-things,  and  after  that  I  sat  down  by  a 
female  person  in  black  silk — and  I  am  sure  I  didn't 
know  whether  she  was  the  lady  of  the  manor  or 
somebody  else  until  I  heard  some  h-words  come 
out  in  her  talk,  and  then  I  knew  she  was  the  latter 
— and  she  told  me  ever  so  much  about  the  people 
in  the  village,  and  why  the  rector  wasn't  there,  on 
account  of  a  dispute  about  the  altar-cloths,  and  she 
was  just  beginning  to  tell  me  about  the  doctor's 
wife  sending  her  daughters  to  a  school  that  was 
much  too  high-priced  for  his  practice,  when  I  hap 
pened  to  look  across  the  field,  and  there,  with  the 
bar  lady  at  the  inn,  with  her  hat  trimmed  with  pink, 


82  Pomona  s    Travels 

and  the  Marie  Antoinette  chambermaid,  with  her 
hat  trimmed  with  blue,  was  Jone,  and  they  was  all 
three  raking  together,  as  comfortable  and  confiding 
as  if  they  had  been  singing  hymns  out  of  the  same 
book. 

Now,  I  thought  I  had  been  sitting  still  long 
enough,  and  so  I  snipped  off  the  rest  of  the  doctor 
story  and  got  myself  across  that  field  with  pretty 
long  steps.  When  I  reached  the  happy  three  I 
didn't  say  anything,  but  went  round  in  front  of 
them  and  stood  there,  throwing  a  sarcastic  and  dis 
dainful  glance  upon  their  farming.  Jone  stopped 
working,  and  wiped  his  face  with  his  handkerchief, 
as  if  he  was  hot  and  tired,  but  hadn't  thought  of 
it  until  just  then,  and  the  two  girls  they  stopped 
too. 

"  He's  teaching  us  to  rake,  ma'am,"  said  Miss 
Dick,  revolving  her  green-gage  eyes  in  my  direc 
tion,  "  and  really,  ma'am,  it's  wonderful  to  see  how 
good  he  does  it.  You  Americans  are  so  awful 
clever!" 

As  for  the  one  with  the  blue  trimmings,  she  said 
nothing,  but  stood  with  her  hands  folded  on  her 
rake,  and  her  chiselled  features  steeped  in  a  meek 
resignedness,  though  much  too  high  colored,  as 
though  it  had  just  been  borne  in  upon  her  that  this 
world  is  all  a  fleeting  show,  for  man's  illusion  given, 
and  such  felicity  as  culling  fragrant  hay  by  the  side 
of  that  manly  form  must  e'en  be  foregone  by  her, 


Pomona  s    Travels  85 

that  I  could  have  taken  a  handle  of  a  rake  and 
given  her  such  a  punch  among  her  blue  ribbons 
that  her  classic  features  would  have  frantically 
twined  themselves  around  one  resounding  howl — 
but  I  didn't.  I  simply  remarked  to  Jone,  with  a 
statuesque  rigidity,  that  it  was  six  o'clock  and  I 
was  going  home ;  to  which  he  said  he  was  going 
too,  and  we  went. 

"  I  thought,"  said  I,  as  we  proceeded  with  rapid 
steps  across  the  field,  "  that  you  didn't  come  to 
England  for  the  purpose  of  teaching  the  inhabi 
tants." 

Jone  laughed  a  little.  "  That  young  lady  put  it 
rather  strong,"  he  said.  "  She  and  her  friend  was 
merely  trying  to  rake  as  I  did.  I  think  they  got  on 
very  well." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  I — I  expect  with  flashing  eye — 
"but  the  next  time  you  go  into  the  disciple  busi 
ness  I  recommend  that  you  take  boys  who  really 
need  to  know  something  about  farming,  and  not 
fine-as-fiddle  young  women  that  you  might  as  well 
be  ballet-dancing  with  as  raking  with,  for  all  the 
hankering  after  knowledge  they  have." 

"Oh!"  said  Jone,  and  that  was  all  he  did  say, 
which  was  very  wise  in  him,  for,  considering  my 
state  of  feelings,  his  case  was  like  a  fish-hook  in 
your  finger — the  more  you  pull  and  worry  at  it  the 
harder  it  is  to  get  out. 

That  evening,  when  I  was  quite  cooled  down,  and 


86  Pomonas   Travels 

we  was  talking  to  Mr.  Poplington  about  the  hay- 
making  and  the  free-and-easy  way  in  which  every 
body  came  together,  he  was  a  good  deal  surprised 
that  we  should  think  that  there  was  anything  un 
common  in  that,  coming  from  a  country  where 
everybody  was  free  and  equal.  Jone  was  smoking 
his  pipe,  and  when  it  draws  well  and  he's  had  a 
good  dinner  and  I  haven't  anything  particular  to 
say,  he  often  likes  to  talk  slow  and  preach  little 
sermons. 

"  Yes,  sir,  "  said  he,  after  considering  the  matter  a 
little  while,  "  according  to  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States  we  are  all  free  and  equal,  but  there's 
a  good  many  things  the  Constitution  doesn't  touch 
on,  and  one  of  them  is  the  sorting  out  and  sizing  up 
of  the  population.  Now,  you  people  over  here  are 
like  the  metal  types  that  the  printers  use.  You've 
all  got  your  letters  on  one  end  of  you,  and  you  know 
just  where  you  belong,  and  if  you  happen  to  be 
knocked  into  '  pi '  and  mixed  all  up  in  a  pile  it  is 
easy  enough  to  pick  you  out  and  put  you  all  in  your 
proper  cases  ;  but  it's  different  with  us.  According 
to  the  Constitution  we're  like  a  lot  of  carpet-tacks, 
one  just  the  same  as  another,  though  in  fact  we're 
not  alike,  and  it  would  not  be  easy  if  we  got  mixed 
up,  say  in  a  hayfield,  to  get  ourselves  all  sorted  out 
again  according  to  the  breadth  of  our  heads  and 
the  sharpness  of  our  points,  so  we  don't  like  to  do 
too  much  mixing,  don't  you  see  ?  "  To  which  Mr. 


Pomona  s    Travels  87 

Poplington  said  he  didn't  see,  and  then  I  explained 
to  him  that  what  Jone  meant  was  that  though  in  our 
country  we  was  all  equally  free,  it  didn't  do  for  us  to 
be  as  freely  equal  as  the  people  are  sometimes  over 
here,  to  which  Mr.  Poplington  said,  "Really!"  but 
he  didn't  seem  to  be  standing  in  the  glaring  sunlight 
of  convincement.  But  the  shade  is  often  pleasant  to 
be  in,  and  he  wound  up  by  saying,  as  he  bid  us  good 
night,  that  he  thought  it  would  be  a  great  deal  better 
for  us,  if  we  had  classes  at  all,  to  have  them  marked 
out  plain,  and  stamped  so  that  there  could  be  no  mis 
take  ;  to  which  I  said  that  if  we  did  that  the  most  of 
the  mistakes  would  come  in  the  sorting,  which,  ac 
cording  to  my  reading  of  books  and  newspapers,  had 
happened  to  most  countries  that  keep  up  aristoc 
racies. 

I  don't  know  that  he  heard  all  that  I  said,  for  he 
was  going  up-stairs  with  his  candle  at  the  time,  but 
when  Jone  and  me  got  up-stairs  in  our  own  room  I 
said  to  him,  and  he  always  hears  everything  I  say, 
that  in  some  ways  the  girls  that  we  have  for  servants 
at  home  have  some  advantages  over  those  we  find 
here ;  to  which  Jone  said,  "  Yes,"  and  seemed  to  be 
sleepy. 


Letter  Number  Nine 

CHEDCOMBE 

THERE  was  still  another  day  of  hay-making,  but 
we  couldn't  wait  for  that,  because  our  cycles  had  come 
from  London  and  we  was  all  anxious  to  be  off,  and 
you  would  have  laughed,  madam,  if  you  could  have 
seen  us  start.  Mr.  Poplington  went  off  well  enough, 
but  Jone's  bicycle  seemed  a  little  gay  and  hard  to 
manage,  and  he  frisked  about  a  good  deal  at  starting; 
but  Jone  had  bought  a  bicycle  long  ago,  when  the 
things  first  came  out,  and  on  days  when  the  roads 
was  good  he  used  to  go  to  the  post-office  on  it,  and 
he  said  that  if  a  man  had  ever  ridden  on  top  of  a 
wheel  about  six  feet  high  he  ought  to  be  able  to 
balance  himself  on  the  pair  of  small  wheels  which 
they  use  nowadays.  So,  after  getting  his  long  legs 
into  working  order,  he  went  very  well,  though  with  a 
snaky  movement  at  first,  and  then  I  started. 

Each  one  of  us  had  a  little  hand-bag  hung  on  our 
machine,  and  Mr.  Poplington  said  we  needn't  take 
anything  to  eat,  for  there  was  inns  to  be  found 
everywhere  in  England.  Hannah  started  me  off 
nicely  by  pushing  my  tricycle  until  I  got  it  going, 
and  Miss  Pondar  waved  her  handkerchief  from  the 
cottage  door.  When  Hannah  left  me  I  went  along 


Pomona  s    Travels  89 

rather  slow  at  first,  but  when  I  got  used  to  the 
proper  motion  I  began  to  do  better,  and  was  very 
sure  it  wouldn't  take  me  long  to  catch  up  with  Jone, 
who  was  still  worm-fencing  his  way  along  the  road. 
When  I  got  entirely  away  from  the  houses,  and  be 
gan  to  smell  the  hedges  and  grassy  banks  so  close 
to  my  nose,  and  feel  myself  gliding  along  over  the 
smooth  white  road,  my  spirits  began  to  soar  like  a 
bird,  and  I  almost  felt  like  singing. 

The  few  people  I  met  didn't  seem  to  think  it 
was  anything  wonderful  for  a  woman  to  ride  on  a 
tricycle,  and  I  soon  began  to  feel  as  proper  as  if  I 
was  walking  on  a  sidewalk.  Once  I  came  very  near 
tangling  myself  up  with  the  legs  of  a  horse  who  was 
pulling  a  cart.  I  forgot  that  it  was  the  proper 
thing  in  this  country  to  turn  to  the  left,  and  not  to 
the  right,  but  I  gave  a  quick  twist  to  my  helm  and 
just  missed  the  cart-wheel,  but  it  was  a  close  scratch. 
This  turning  to  the  right,  instead  of  to  the  left,  was 
a  mistake  Jone  made  two  or  three  times  when  he 
began  to  drive  me  in  England,  but  he  got  over  it, 
and  since  my  grazing  the  cart  it's  not  likely  I  shall 
forget  it.  As  I  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  after  escap 
ing  this  danger  I  took  in  a  breath  full  of  the  scent  of 
wild  roses  that  nearly  covered  a  bit  of  hedge,  and 
my  spirits  rose  again.  . 

I  had  asked  Jone  and  Mr.  Poplington  to  go  ahead, 
because  I  knew  I  could  do  a  great  deal  better  if  I 
worked  along  by  myself  for  a  while,  without  being 


90  Pomona  s   Travels 

told  what  I  ought  to  do  and  what  I  oughtn't  to  do. 
There  is  nothing  that  bothers  me  so  much  as  to 
have  people  try  to  teach  me  things  when  I  am 
puzzling  them  out  for  myself.  But  now  I  found 
that  although  they  could  not  be  far  ahead,  I  couldn't 
see  them,  on  account  of  the  twists  in  the  road  and 
the  high  hedges,  and  so  I  put  on  steam  and  went 
along  at  a  fine  rate,  sniffing  the  breeze  like  a  charger 
of  the  battlefield.  Before  very  long  I  came  to  a 
place  where  the  road  forked,  but  the  road  to  the  left 
seemed  like  a  lane  leading  to  somebody's  house,  so 
I  kept  on  in  what  was  plainly  the  main  road,  which 
made  a  little  turn  where  it  forked.  Looking  out 
ahead  of  me,  to  see  if  I  could  catch  sight  of  the 
two  men,  I  could  not  see  a  sign  of  them,  but  I  did 
see  that  I  was  on  the  top  of  a  long  hill  that  seemed 
to  lead  on  and  down  and  on  and  down,  with  no 
end  to  it. 

I  had  hardly  started  down  this  hill  when  my  tri 
cycle  became  frisky  and  showed  signs  of  wanting  to 
run,  and  I  got  a  little  nervous,  for  I  didn't  fancy 
going  fast  down  a  slope  like  that.  I  put  on  the 
brake,  but  I  don't  believe  I  managed  it  right,  for  I 
seemed  to  go  faster  and  faster ;  and  then,  as  the 
machine  didn't  need  any  working,  I  took  my  feet  off 
the  pedals,  with  an  idea,  I  think,  though  I  can't  now 
remember,  that  I  would  get  off  and  walk  down  the 
hill.  In  an  instant  that  thing  took  the  bit  in  its 
teeth  and  away  it  went  wildly  tearing  down  hill.  I 


Pomona  s   Travels  91 

never  was  so  much  frightened  in  all  my  life.  I  tried 
to  get  my  feet  back  on  the  pedals,  but  I  couldn't  do 
it,  and  all  I  could  do  was  to  keep  that  flying  tricycle 
in  the  middle  of  the  road.  As  far  as  I  could  see 
ahead  there  was  not  anything  in  the  way  of  a  wagon 
or  a  carriage  that  I  could  run  into,  but  there  was 
such  a  stretch  of  slope  that  it  made  me  fairly  dizzy. 
Just  as  I  was  having  a  little  bit  of  comfort  from 
thinking  there  was  nothing  in  the  way,  a  black 
woolly  dog  jumped  out  into  the  road  some  distance 
ahead  of  me  and  stood  there  barking.  My  heart 
fell,  like  a  bucket  into  a  well  with  the  rope  broken. 
If  I  steered  the  least  bit  to  the  right  or  the  left  I 
believe  I  would  have  bounded  over  the  hedge  like  a 
glass  bottle  from  a  railroad  train,  and  come  down  on 
the  other  side  in  shivers  and  splinters.  If  I  didn't 
turn  I  was  making  a  bee-line  for  the  dog ;  but  I  had 
no  time  to  think  what  to  do,  and  in  an  instant  that 
black  woolly  dog  faded  away  like  a  reminiscence 
among  the  buzzing  wheels  of  my  tricycle.  I  felt  a 
little  bump,  but  was  ignorant  of  further  particulars. 
I  was  now  going  at  what  seemed  like  a  speed  of 
ninety  or  a  hundred  miles  an  hour,  with  the  wind 
rushing  in  between  my  teeth  like  water  over  a  mill- 
dam,  and  I  felt  sure  that  if  I  kept  on  going  down 
that  hill  I  should  soon  be  whirling  through  space 
like  a  comet.  The  only  way  I  could  think  of  to  save 
myself  was  to  turn  into  some  level  place  where  the 
thing  would  stop,  but  not  a  cross-road  did  I  pass: 


92  Pomona  s   Travels 

but  presently  I  saw  a  little  house  standing  back  from 
the  road,  which  seemed  to  hump  itself  a  little  at  that 
place  so  as  to  be  nearly  level,  and  over  the  edge  of 
the  hump  it  dipped  so  suddenly  that  I  could  not  see 
the  rest  of  the  road  at  all. 

"  Now,"  thought  I  to  myself,  "  if  the  gate  of  that 
house  is  open  I'll  turn  into  it,  and  no  matter  what  I 
run  into,  it  would  be  better  than  going  over  the 
edge  of  that  rise  beyond  and  down  the  awful  hill 
that  must  be  on  the  other  side  of  it."  As  I  swooped 
down  to  the  little  house  and  reached  the  level 
ground  I  felt  I  was  going  a  little  slower,  but  not 
much.  However,  I  steered  my  tricycle  round  at 
just  the  right  instant,  and  through  the  front  gate  I 
went  like  a  flash. 

I  was  going  so  fast,  and  my  mind  was  so  wound 
up  on  account  of  the  necessity  of  steering  straight, 
that  I  could  not  pay  much  attention  to  things  I 
passed.  But  the  scene  that  showed  itself  in  front  of 
me  as  I  went  through  that  little  garden  gate  I  could 
not  help  seeing  and  remembering.  From  the  gate 
to  the  door  of  the  house  was  a  path  paved  with  flag 
stones  ;  the  door  was  open,  and  there  must  have 
been  a  low  step  before  it ;  back  of  the  door  was  a 
hall  which  ran  through  the  house,  and  this  was  paved 
with  flagstones ;  the  back  door  of  the  hall  was  open, 
and  outside  of  it  was  a  sort  of  arbor  with  vines,  and 
on  one  side  of  this  arbor  was  a  bench,  with  a  young 
man  and  a  young  woman  sitting  on  it,  holding  each 


Pomona  s   Travels  95 

other  by  the  hand,  and  looking  into  each  other's 
eyes ;  the  arbor  opened  out  on  to  a  piece  of  green 
grass,  with  flowers  of  mixed  colors  on  the  edges 
of  it,  and  at  the  back  of  this  bit  of  lawn  was  a  lot 
of  clothes  hung  out  on  clothes-lines.  Of  course,  I 
could  not  have  seen  all  those  things  at  once,  but 
they  came  upon  me  like  a  single  picture,  for  in 
one  tick  of  a  watch  I  went  over  that  flagstone  path 
and  into  that  front  door  and  through  that  house 
and  out  of  that  back  door,  and  past  that  young 
man  and  that  young  woman,  and  head  and  heels 
both  foremost  at  once,  dashed  slam-bang  into  the 
midst  of  all  that  linen  hanging  out  on  the  lines. 

I  heard  the  minglement  of  a  groan  and  a  scream, 
and  in  an  instant  I  was  enveloped  in  a  white,  wet 
cloud  of  sheets,  pillowcases,  tablecloths,  and  under 
wear.  Some  of  the  things  stuck  so  close  to  me,  and 
others  I  grabbed  with  such  a  wild  clutch,  that  nearly 
all  the  week's  wash,  lines  and  all,  came  down  on  me, 
wrapping  me  up  like  an  apple  in  a  dumpling — but  I 
stopped.  There  was  not  anything  in  this  world  that 
would  have  been  better  for  me  to  run  into  than 
those  lines  full  of  wet  clothes. 

Where  the  tricycle  went  to  I  didn't  know,  but  I 
was  lying  on  the  grass  kicking,  and  trying  to  get  up 
and  to  get  my  head  free,  so  that  I  could  see  and 
breathe.  At  last  I  did  get  on  my  feet,  and  throwing 
out  my  arms  so  as  to  shake  off  the  sheets  and  pillow 
cases  that  was  clinging  all  over  me  I  shook  some  of 


96  Pomona  s    Travels 

the  things  partly  off  my  face,  and  with  one  eye  I 
saw  that  couple  on  the  bench,  but  only  for  a  second. 
With  a  yell  of  horror,  and  with  a  face  whiter  than 
the  linen  I  was  wrapped  in,  that  young  man  bounced 
from  the  bench,  dashed  past  the  house,  made  one 
clean  jump  over  the  hedge  into  the  road,  and  disap 
peared.  As  for  the  young  woman,  she  just  flopped 
over  and  went  down  in  a  faint  on  the  floor. 

As  soon  as  I  could  do  it  I  got  myself  free  from 
the  clothes-line  and  staggered  out  on  the  grass.  I 
was  trembling  so  much  I  could  scarcely  walk,  but 
when  I  saw  that  young  woman  looking  as  if  she  was 
dead  on  the  ground  I  felt  I  must  do  something,  and 
seeing  a  pail  of  water  standing  near  by,  I  held  it 
over  her  face  and  poured  it  down  on  her  a  little  at  a 
time,  and  it  wasn't  long  before  she  began  to  squirm, 
and  then  she  opened  her  eyes  and  her  mouth  just  at 
the  same  time,  so  that  she  must  have  swallowed 
about  as  much  water  as  she  would  have  taken  at  a 
meal.  This  brought  her  to,  and  she  began  to  cough 
and  splutter  and  look  around  wildly,  and  then  I  took 
her  by  the  arm  and  helped  her  up  on  the  bench. 

"Don't  you  want  a  little  something  to  drink?" 
I  said.  "  Tell  me  where  I  can  get  you  something." 

She  didn't  answer,  but  began  looking  from  one 
side  to  the  other.  "  Is  he  swallowed?"  said  she 
in  a  whisper,  with  her  eyes  starting  out  of  her 
head. 

"  Swallowed  ?  "  said  I.     "  Who  ?  " 


Pomona  s   Travels  97 

"  Davy,"  said  she. 

"  Oh,  your  young  man,"  said  I.  "  He  is  all  right, 
unless  he  hurt  himself  jumping  over  the  hedge.  I 
saw  him  run  away  just  as  fast  as  he  could." 

"  And  the  spirit?"  said  she.  I  looked  hard  at 
her. 

"What  has  happened  to  you? "said  I.  "How 
did  you  come  to  faint  ?  " 

She  was  getting  quieter,  but  she  still  looked 
wildly  out  of  her  eyes,  and  kept  her  back  turned 
toward  the  bit  of  grass,  as  if  she  was  afraid  to  look 
in  that  direction. 

"  What  happened  to  you  ? "  said  I  again,  for  I 
wanted  to  know  what  she  thought  about  my  sudden 
appearance.  It  took  some  little  time  for  her  to  get 
ready  to  answer,  and  then  she  said  : 

"  Was  you  frightened,  lady  ?  Did  you  have  to 
come  in  here?  I'm  sorry  you  found  me  swooned. 
I  don't  know  how  long  I  was  swooned.  Davy  and 
me  was  sitting  here  talking  about  having  the  banns 
called,  and  it  was  a  sorry  talk,  lady,  for  the  vicar, 
he's  told  me  four  times  I  should  not  marry  Davy, 
because  he  says  he  is  a  Radical ;  but  for  all  that 
Davy  and  me  wants  the  banns  called  all  the  same, 
but  not  knowing  how  we  was  to  have  it  done,  for 
the  vicar,  he's  so  set  against  Davy,  and  Davy,  he  had 
just  got  done  saying  to  me  that  he  was  going  to 
marry  me,  vicar  or  no  vicar,  banns  or  no  banns, 
come  what  might,  when  that  very  minute,  with  an 
7 


98  Pomona  s   Travels 

awful  hiss,  something  flashed  in  front  of  us,  dazzling 
my  eyes  so  that  I  shut  them  and  screamed,  and  then 
when  I  opened  them  again,  there,  in  the  yard  back 
of  us,  was  a  great  white  spirit  twice  as  high  as  the 
cow  stable,  with  one  eye  in  the  middle  of  its  fore 
head,  turning  around  like  a  firework.  I  don't  re 
member  anything  after  that,  and  I  don't  know  how 
long  I  was  lying  here  when  you  came  and  found 
me,  lady,  but  I  know  what  it  means.  There  is  a 
curse  on  our  marriage,  and  Davy  and  me  will  never 
be  man  and  wife."  And  then  she  fell  to  groaning 
and  moaning. 

I  felt  like  laughing  when  I  thought  how  much  like 
a  church  ghost  I  must  have  looked,  standing  there 
in  solid  white  with  my  arms  stretched  out ;  but  the 
poor  girl  was  in  such  a  dreadful  state  of  mind  that 
I  sat  down  beside  her  and  began  to  comfort  her  by 
telling  her  just  what  had  happened,  and  that  she 
ought  to  be  very  glad  that  I  had  found  a  place  to 
turn  into,  and  had  not  gone  on  down  the  hill  and 
dashed  myself  into  little  pieces  at  the  bottom.  But 
it  wasn't  easy  to  cheer  her  up. 

"  Oh,  Davy's  gone,"  said  she.  "  He'll  never  come 
back  for  fear  of  the  curse.  He'll  be  off  with  his 
uncle  to  sea.  I'll  never  lay  eyes  on  Davy  again." 

Just  at  that  moment  I  heard  somebody  calling  my 
name,  and  looking  through  the  house  I  saw  Jone  at 
the  front  door  and  two  men  behind  him.  As  I  ran 
through  the  hall  I  saw  that  the  two  men  with  Jone 


Pomonas   Travels  99 

was  Mr.  Poplington  and  a  young  fellow  with  a  pale 
face  and  trembling  legs. 

"Is  this  Davy?"  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  he. 

"  Then  go  back  to  your  young  woman  and  com 
fort  her,"  I  said,  which  he  did,  and  when  he  had 
gone,  not  madly  rushing  into  his  loved  one's  arms, 
but  shuffling  along  in  a  timid  way,  as  if  he  was 
afraid  the  ghost  hadn't  gone  yet,  I  asked  Jone  how 
he  happened  to  think  I  was  here,  and  he  told  me 
that  he  and  Mr.  Poplington  had  taken  the  road  to 
the  left  when  they  reached  the  fork,  because  that 
was  the  proper  one,  but  they  had  not  gone  far  before 
he  thought  I  might  not  know  which  way  to  turn,  so 
they  came  back  to  the  fork  to  wait  for  me.  But  I 
had  been  closer  behind  them  than  they  thought,  and 
I  must  have  come  to  the  fork  before  they  turned 
back,  so,  after  waiting  a  while  and  going  back  along 
the  road  without  seeing  me,  they  thought  that  I 
must  have  taken  the  right-hand  road,  and  they 
came  that  way,  going  down  the  hill  very  carefully. 
After  a  while  Jone  found  my  hat  in  the  road,  which 
up  to  that  moment  I  had  not  missed,  and  then  he 
began  to  be  frightened  and  they  went  on  faster. 

They  passed  the  little  house,  and  as  they  was 
going  down  the  hill  they  saw  ahead  of  them  a  man 
running  as  if  something  had  happened,  so  they  let 
out  their  bicycles  and  soon  caught  up  to  him.  This 
was  Davy;  and  when  they  stopped  him  and  asked 


i  oo  Pomona  s   Travels 

if  anything  was  the  matter  he  told  them  that  a 
dreadful  thing  had  come  to  pass.  He  had  been 
working  in  the  garden  of  a  house  about  half  a  mile 
back  when  suddenly  there  came  an  awful  crash,  and 
a  white  animal  sprang  out  of  the  house  with  a  bit 
of  a  cotton  mill  fastened  to  its  tail,  and  then,  with  a 
great  peal  of  thunder,  it  vanished,  and  a  white  ghost 
rose  up  out  of  the  ground  with  its  arms  stretching 
out  longer  and  longer,  reaching  to  clutch  him  by 
the  hair.  He  was  not  afraid  of  anything  living,  but 
he  couldn't  abide  spirits,  so  he  laid  down  his  spade 
and  left  the  garden,  thinking  he  would  go  and  see 
the  sexton  and  have  him  come  and  lay  the  ghost. 

Then  Jone  went  on  to  say  that  of  course  he  could 
not  make  head  or  tail  out  of  such  a  story  as  that, 
but  when  he  heard  that  an  awful  row  had  been 
kicked  up  in  a  garden  he  immediately  thought  that 
as  like  as  not  I  was  in  it,  and  so  he  and  Mr.  Pop- 
lington  ran  back,  leaving  their  bicycles  against  the 
hedge,  and  bringing  the  young  man  with  them. 

Then  I  told  my  story,  and  Mr.  Poplington  said  it 
was  a  mercy  I  was  not  killed,  and  Jone  didn't  say 
much,  but  I  could  see  that  his  teeth  was  grinding. 

We  all  went  into  the  back  yard,  and  there,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  clothes,  which  was  scattered  all 
over  the  ground,  we  found  my  tricycle,  jammed  into 
a  lot  of  gooseberry  bushes,  and  when  it  was  dragged 
out  we  found  it  was  not  hurt  a  bit.  Davy  and  his 
young  woman  was  standing  in  the  arbor  looking 


Pomona  s    Travels  101 


very  sheepish,  especially  Davy,  for  she  had  told 
him  what  it  was  that  had  scared  him.  As  we  was 
going  through  the  house,  Jone  taking  my  tricycle, 
I  stopped  to  say  good-by  to  the  girl. 

"  Now  that  you  see  there  has  been  no  curse  and 
no  ghost,"  said  I,  "  I  hope  that  you  will  soon  have 
your  banns  called,  and  that  you  and  your  young 
man  will  be  married  all  right." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,  ma'am,"  said  she,  "  but 
I'm  awful  fearful  about  it.  Davy  may  say  what  he 
pleases,  but  my  mother  never  will  let  me  marry  him 
if  the  vicar's  agen  it ;  and  Davy  wouldn't  have  been 
here  to-day  if  she  hadn't  gone  to  town  ;  and  the 
vicar's  a  hard  man  and  a  strong  Tory,  and  he'll 
always  be  agen  it,  I  fear." 

When  I  went  out  into  the  front  yard  I  found  Mr. 
Poplington  and  Jone  sitting  on  a  little  stone  bench, 
for  they  was  tired,  and  I  told  them  about  that 
young  woman  and  Davy. 

"  Humph,"  said  Mr.  Poplington,  "  I  know  the 
vicar  of  the  parish.  He  is  the  Rev.  Osmun  Green. 
He's  a  good  Conservative,  and  is  perfectly  right  in 
trying  to  keep  that  poor  girl  from  marrying  a 
wretched  Radical." 

I  looked  straight  at  him  and  said  : 

"  Do  you  mean,  sir,  to  put  politics  before  matri 
monial  happiness?" 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  he,  "  but  a  girl  can't  expect 
matrimonial  happiness  with  a  Radical." 


IQ2  Pomona  s    Travels 

I  saw  that  Jone  was  about  to  say  something  here, 
but  I  got  in  ahead  of  him. 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  it  is,  sir,"  said  I,  "  if  you 
think  it  is  wrong  to  be  a  Radical  the  best  thing  you 
can  do  is  to  write  to  your  friend,  that  vicar,  and 
advise  him  to  get  those  two  young  people  married 
as  soon  as  possible,  for  it  is  easy  to  see  that  she  is 
going  to  rule  the  roost,  and  if  anybody  can  get  his 
Radicalistics  out  of  him  she  will  be  the  one  to 
do  it." 

Mr.  Poplington  laughed,  and  said  that  as  the  man 
looked  as  if  he  was  a  fit  subject  to  be  henpecked  it 
might  be  a  good  way  of  getting  another  Tory  vote. 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  I  should  think  it  would  go 
against  your  conscience,  being  naturally  opposed  to 
the  Conservatives,  to  help  even  by  one  vote." 

"  Oh,  my  conscience  is  all  right,"  said  I.  "When 
politics  runs  against  the  matrimonial  altar  I  stand 
up  for  the  altar." 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I'll  think  of  it."  And  we 
started  off,  walking  down  the  hill,  Jone  holding  on 
to  my  tricycle. 

When  we  got  to  level  ground,  with  about  two 
miles  to  go  before  we  would  stop  for  luncheon, 
Jone  took  a  piece  of  thin  rope  out  of  his  pocket — 
he  always  carries  some  sort  of  cord  in  case  of 
accidents — and  he  tied  it  to  the  back  part  of  my 
machine. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  I'm  going  to  keep  hold  of  the 


Pomona  s    Travels  103 

other  end  of  this,  and  perhaps  your  tricycle  won't 
run  away  with  you." 

I  didn't  much  like  going  along  this  way,  as  if  I 
was  a  cow  being  taken  to  market,  but  I  could  see 
that  Jone  had  been  so  troubled  and  frightened 
about  me  that  I  didn't  make  any  objection,  and,  in 
fact,  after  I  got  started  it  was  a  comfort  to  think 
there  was  a  tie  between  Jone  and  me  that  was 
stronger,  when  hilly  roads  came  into  the  question, 
than  even  the  matrimonial  tie. 


Letter  Number  Ten 

CHEDCOMBE,  SOMERSETSHIRE 

THE  place  we  stopped  at  on  the  first  night  of  our 
cycle  trip  is  named  Porlock,  and  after  the  walking 
and  the  pushing,  and  the  strain  on  my  mind  when 
going  down  even  the  smallest  hill  for  fear  Jone's 
rope  would  give  way,  I  was  glad  to  get  there. 

The  road  into  Porlock  goes  down  a  hill,  the 
steepest  I  have  seen  yet,  and  we  all  walked  down, 
holding  our  machines  as  if  they  had  been  fiery 
coursers.  This  hill  road  twists  and  winds  so  you 
can  only  see  part  of  it  at  a  time,  and  when  we  was 
about  half-way  down  we  heard  a  horn  blowing 
behind  us,  and  looking  around  there  came  the  mail- 
coach  at  full  speed,  with  four  horses,  with  a  lot  of 
people  on  top.  As  this  raging  coach  passed  by  it 
nearly  took  my  breath  away,  and  as  soon  as  I  could 
speak  I  said  to  Jone:  "Don't  you  ever  say  anything 
in  America  about  having  the  roads  made  narrower 
so  that  it  won't  cost  so  much  to  keep  them  in  order, 
for  in  my  opinion  it's  often  the  narrow  road  that 
leadeth  to  destruction." 

When  we  got  into  the  town,  and  my  mind  really 
began  to  grapple  with  old  Porlock,  I  felt  as  if  I  was 
sliding  backward  down  the  slope  of  the  centuries, 


Pomona  s    Travels  105 

and  liked  it.  As  we  went  along  Mr.  Poplington 
told  us  about  everything,  and  said  that  this  queer 
little  town  was  a  fishing  village  and  seaport  in  the 
days  of  the  Saxons,  and  that  King  Harold  was  once 
obliged  to  stop  there  for  a  while,  and  that  he  passed 
his  time  making  war  on  the  neighbors. 

Mr.  Poplington  took  us  to  a  tavern  called  the 
Ship  Inn,  and  I  simply  went  wild  over  it.  It  is  two 
hundred  years  old  and  two  stories  high,  and  every 
thing  I  ever  read  about  the  hostelries  of  the  past  I 
saw  there.  The  queer  little  door  led  into  a  queer 
little  passage  paved  with  stone.  A  pair  of  little 
stairs  led  out  of  this  into  another  little  room,  higher 
up,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the  passage  was  a  long, 
mysterious  hallway.  We  had  our  dinner  in  a  tiny 
parlor,  which  reminded  me  of  a  chapter  in  one  of 
those  old  books  where  they  use  f  instead  of  s,  and 
where  the  first  word  of  the  next  page  is  at  the 
bottom  of  the  one  you  are  reading. 

There  was  a  fireplace  in  the  room  with  a  window 
one  side  of  it,  through  which  you  could  look  into 
the  street.  It  was  not  cold,  but  it  had  begun  to 
rain  hard,  and  so  I  made  the  dampness  an  excuse 
for  a  fire. 

"This  is  antique,  indeed,"  I  said,  when  we  were 
at  the  table. 

"You  are  right  there,"  said  Mr.  Poplington,  who 
was  doing  his  best  to  carve  a  duck,  and  was  a  little 
cross  about  it. 


1 06  Pomona  s   Travels 

When  I  sat  before  the  fire  that  evening,  and  Jone 
was  asleep  on  a  settee  of  the  days  of  yore,  and  Mr. 
Poplington  had  gone  to  bed,  being  tired,  my  soul 
went  back  to  the  olden  time,  and,  looking  out 
through  the  little  window  in  the  fireplace,  I  fancied 
I  could  see  William  the  Conqueror  and  the  King  of 
the  Danes  sneaking  along  the  little  street  under  the 
eaves  of  the  thatched  roofs,  until  I  was  so  worked 
up  that  I  was  on  the  point  of  shouting,  "  Fly  !  oh, 
Saxon !  "  when  the  door  opened  and  the  maid  who 
waited  on  us  at  the  table  put  her  head  in.  I  took 
this  for  a  sign  that  the  curfew  bell  was  going  to 
ring,  and  so  I  woke  up  Jone  and  we  went  to  bed. 

But  all  night  long  the  heroes  of  the  past  flocked 
about  me.  I  had  been  reading  a  lot  of  history, 
and  I  knew  them  all  the  minute  my  eyes  fell  upon 
them.  Charlemagne  and  Canute  sat  on  the  end  of 
the  bed,  while  Alfred  the  Great  climbed  up  one  of 
the  posts  until  he  was  stopped  by  Hannibal's  legs, 
who  had  them  twisted  about  the  post  to  keep  him 
self  steady.  When  I  got  up  in  the  morning  I  went 
down-stairs  into  the  little  parlor,  and  there  was  the 
maid  down  on  her  knees  cleaning  the  hearth. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  I   said  to  her. 

"  Jane,  please,"  said  she. 

"  Jane  what  ?  "  said   I. 

"  Jane  Puddle,  please,"  said  she. 

I  took  a  carving-knife  from  off  the  table,  and 
standing  over  her  I  brought  it  down  gently  on  top 


Pomona  s   Travels 


107 


of'  her  head.      "  Rise,  Sir  Jane   Puddle,"  said   I,  to 
which  the  maid  gave  a  smothered  gasp,  and— would 


Rise,   Sir   Jane  Puddle  " 


you  believe  it,  madam  ? — she  crept  out  of  the  room 
on  her  hands  and  knees.     The  cook  waited  on  us 


io8  Pomona  s   Travels 

at  breakfast,  and  I  truly  believe  that  the  landlord 
and  his  wife  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  when  we 
left  the  Ship  Inn,  for  their  sordid  souls  had  never 
heard  of  knighthood,  but  knew  all  about  assassina 
tion. 

That  morning  we  left  Porlock  by  a  hill  which, 
compared  with  the  one  we  came  into  it  by,  was  like 
the  biggest  Pyramid  of  Egypt  by  the  side  of  a  hay 
cock.  I  don't  suppose  in  the  whole  civilized  world 
there  is  a  worse  hill  with  a  road  on  it  than  the  one 
we  went  up  by.  I  was  glad  we  had  to  go  up  it 
instead  of  down  it,  though  it  was  very  hard  to  walk, 
pushing  the  tricycle,  even  when  helped.  I  believe 
it  would  have  taken  away  my  breath  and  turned  me 
dizzy  even  to  take  one  step  face  forward  down  such 
a  hill,  and  gaze  into  the  dreadful  depths  below  me ; 
and  yet  they  drive  coaches  and  fours  down  that 
hill.  At  the  top  of  the  hill  is  this  notice  :  "  To 
cyclers — this  hill  is  dangerous."  If  I  had  thought 
of  it  I  should  have  looked  for  the  cyclers'  graves  at 
the  bottom  of  it. 

The  reason  I  thought  about  this  was  that  I  had 
been  reading  about  one  of  the  mountains  in  Switz 
erland,  which  is  one  of  the  highest  and  most  dan 
gerous,  and  with  the  poorest  view,  where  so  many 
Alpine  climbers  have  been  killed  that  there  is  a 
little  graveyard  nearly  full  of  their  graves  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountain.  How  they  could  walk 
through  that  graveyard  and  read  the  inscriptions 


Pomona  s   Travels  109 

on   the   tombstones   and    then   go   and    climb    that 
mountain  is  more  than  I  can  imagine. 

In  walking  up  this  hill,  and  thinking  that  it 
might  have  been  in  front  of  me  when  my  tricyle 
ran  away,  I  could  not  keep  my  mind  away  from  the 
little  graveyard  at  the  foot  of  the  Swiss  mountain. 


Letter  Number  Eleven 


CHEDCOMBE,  SOMERSETSHIRE 
|N  the  third  day  of  our  cycle  trip  we 
journeyed  along  a  lofty  road,  with 
the  wild  moor  on  one  side  and  the 
tossing  sea  on  the  other,  and  at  night  reached  Lyn- 
ton.  It  is  a  little  town  on  a  jutting  crag,  and  far 
down  below  it  on  the  edge  of  the  sea  was  another 
town  named  Lynmouth,  and  there  is  a  car  with  a 
wire  rope  to  it,  like  an  elevator,  which  they  call  The 
Lift,  which  takes  people  up  and  down  from  one 
town  to  another. 

Here  we  stopped  at  a  house  very  different  from 
the  Ship  Inn,  for  it  looked  as  if  it  had  been  built 
the  day  before  yesterday.  Everything  was  new  and 
shiny,  and  we  had  our  supper  at  a  long  table  with 
about  twenty  other  people,  just  like  a  boarding- 


Pomona s   Travels  in 

house.  Some  of  their  ways  reminded  me  of  the 
backwoods,  and  I  suppose  there  is  nothing  more 
modern  than  backwoodsism,  which  naturally  hasn't 
the  least  alloy  of  the  past.  When  the  people  got 
through  with  their  cups  of  coffee  or  tea,  mostly  the 
last,  two  women  went  around  the  table,  one  with  a 
big  bowl  for  us  to  lean  back  and  empty  our  slops 
into,  and  the  other  with  the  tea  or  coffee  to  fill  up 
the  cups.  A  gentleman  with  a  baldish  head,  who 
was  sitting  opposite  us,  began  to  be  sociable  as  soon 
as  he  heard  us  speak  to  the  waiters,  and  asked  ques 
tions  about  America.  After  he  got  through  with 
about  a  dozen  of  them  he  said  : 

"  Is  it  true,  as  I  have  heard,  that  what  you  call 
native-born  Americans  deteriorate  in  the  third  gen 
eration  ?  " 

I  had  been  answering  most  of  the  questions, 
but  now  Jone  spoke  up  quick.  "  That  depends," 
says  he,  "  on  their  original  blood.  When  Ameri 
cans  are  descended  from  Englishmen  they  steadily 
improve,  generation  after  generation."  The  baldish 
man  smiled  at  this,  and  said  there  was  nothing  like 
having  good  blood  for  a  foundation.  But  Mr. 
Poplington  laughed,  and  said  to  me  that  Jone  had 
served  him  right. 

The  country  about  Lynton  is  wonderfully  beauti 
ful,  with  rocks  and  valleys,  and  velvet  lawns  running 
into  the  sea,  and  woods  and  ancestral  mansions, 
and  we  spent  the  day  seeing  all  this,  and  also  going 


112  Pomona  s   Travels 

down  to  Lynmouth,  where  the  little  ships  lie  high 
and  dry  on  the  sand  when  the  tide  goes  out,  and  the 
carts  drive  up  to  them  and  put  goods  on  board,  and 
when  the  tide  rises  the  ships  sail  away,  which  is 
very  convenient. 

I  wanted  to  keep  on  along  the  coast,  but  the 
others  didn't,  and  the  next  morning  we  started  back 
to  Chedcombe  by  a  roundabout  way,  so  that  we 
might  see  Exmoor  and  the  country  where  Lorna 
Doone  and  John  Ridd  cut  up  their  didoes,  I  must 
say  I  liked  the  story  a  good  deal  better  before  I 
saw  the  country  where  the  things  happened.  The 
mind  of  man  is  capable  of  soarings  which  Nature 
weakens  at  when  she  sees  what  she  is  called  upon 
to  do.  If  you  want  a  real,  first-class,  tooth-on-edge 
Doone  valley,  the  place  to  look  for  it  is  in  the  book. 
We  went  rolling  along  on  the  smooth,  hard  roads, 
which  are  just  as  good  here  as  if  they  was  in  London, 
and  all  around  us  was  stretched  out  the  wild  and 
desolate  moors,  with  the  wind  screaming  and  whis 
tling  over  the  heather,  nearly  tearing  the  clothes  off 
our  backs,  while  the  rain  beat  down  on  us  with  a 
steady  pelting,  and  the  ragged  sheep  stopped  to 
look  at  us,  as  if  we  was  three  witches  and  they  was 
Macbeths. 

The  very  thought  that  I  was  out  in  a  wild  storm 
on  a  desolate  moor  filled  my  soul  with  a  sort  of 
triumph,  and  I  worked  my  tricycle  as  if  I  was 
spurring  my  steed  to  battle.  The  only  thing  that 


Pomona  s   Travels  113 

troubled  me  was  the  thought  that  if  the  water  that 
poured  off  my  mackintosh  that  day  could  have  run 
into  our  cistern  at  home,  it  would  have  been  a 
glorious  good  thing.  Jone  did  not  like  the  fierce 
blast  and  the  inspiriting  rain,  but  I  knew  he'd  stand 
it  as  long  as  Mr.  Poplington  did,  and  so  I  was  con 
tent,  although,  if  we  had  been  overtaken  by  a 
covered  wagon,  I  should  have  trembled  for  the 
result. 

That  night  we  stopped  in  the  little  village  of 
Simonsbath  at  Somebody's  Arms.  After  dinner  Mr. 
Poplington,  who  knew  some  people  in  the  place, 
went  out,  but  Jone  and  me  went  to  bed  as  quick 
as  we  could,  for  we  was  tired.  The  next  morning 
we  was  wakened  by  a  tremendous  pounding  at  the 
door.  I  didn't  know  what  to  make  of  it,  for  it  was 
too  early  and  too  loud  for  hot  water,  but  we  heard 
Mr.  Poplington  calling  to  us,  and  Jone  jumped  up 
to  see  what  he  wanted. 

"  Get  up,"  said  he,  "  if  you  want  to  see  a  sight 
that  you  never  saw  before.  We'll  start  off  imme 
diately  and  breakfast  at  Exford."  The  hope  of  see 
ing  a  sight  was  enough  to  make  me  bounce  at  any 
time,  and  I  never  dressed  or  packed  a  bag  quicker 
than  I  did  that  morning,  and  Jone  wasn't  far  be 
hind  me. 

When  we  got  down-stairs  we  found  our  cycles 
waiting  ready  at  the  door,  together  with  the  stable 
man  and  the  stable  boy  and  the  boy's  helper  and 
8 


114  Pomona  s   Travels 

the  cook  and  the  chambermaid  and  the  waiters  and 
the  other  servants,  waiting  for  their  tips.  Mr. 
Poplington  seemed  in  a  fine  humor,  and  he  told  us 
he  had  heard  the  night  before  that  there  was  to  be 
a  stag  hunt  that  day,  the  first  of  the  season.  In 
fact,  it  was  not  one  of  the  regular  meets,  but  what 
they  called  a  by-meet,  and  not  known  to  everybody. 

"  We  will  go  on  to  Exford,"  said  he,  straddling 
his  bicycle,  "  for  though  the  meet  isn't  to  be  there, 
there's  where  they  keep  the  hounds  and  horses,  and 
if  we  make  good  speed  we  shall  get  there  before 
they  start  out." 

The  three  of  us  travelled  abreast,  Mr.  Poplington 
in  the  middle,  and  on  the  way  he  told  us  a  good 
deal  about  stag  hunts.  What  I  remember  best, 
having  to  go  so  fast  and  having  to  mind  my  steer 
ing,  was  that  after  the  hunting  season  began  they 
hunted  stags  until  a  certain  day — I  forget  what  it 
was' — and  then  they  let  them  alone  and  began  to 
hunt  the  does  ;  and  that  after  that  particular  day  of 
the  month,  when  the  stags  heard  the  hounds  com 
ing  they  paid  no  attention  to  them,  knowing  very 
well  it  was  the  does'  turn  to  be  chased,  and  that 
they  would  not  be  bothered;  and  so  they  let  the 
female  members  of  their  families  take  care  of  them 
selves;  which  shows  that  ungentlemanliness  extends 
itself  even  into  Nature. 

When  we  got  to  Exford  we  left  our  cycles  at  the 
inn  and  followed  Mr.  Poplington  to  the  hunting 


Pomona  s    Travels  115 

stables,  which  are  near  by.  I  had  not  gone  a  dozen 
steps  from  the  door  before  I  heard  a  great  barking, 
and  the  next  minute  there  came  around  the  corner 
a  pack  of  hounds.  They  crossed  the  bridge  over 
the  little  river,  and  then  they  stopped.  We  went 
up  to  them,  and  while  Mr.  Poplington  talked  to  the 
men  the  whole  of  that  pack  of  hounds  gathered 
about  us  as  gentle  as  lambs.  They  were  good  big 
dogs,  white  and  brown.  The  head  huntsman  who 
had  them  in  charge  told  me  there  was  thirty  couple 
of  them,  and  I  thought  that  sixty  dogs  was  pretty 
heavy  odds  against  one  deer.  Then  they  moved  off 
as  orderly  as  if  they  had  been  children  in  a  kinder 
garten,  and  we  went  to  the  stables  and  saw  the 
horses.;  and  then  the  master  of  the  hounds -and  a 
good  many  other  gentlemen  in  red  coats,  in  all  sorts 
of  traps,  rode  up,  and  their  hunters  were  saddled, 
and  the  dogs  barked  and  the  men  cracked  their 
whips  to  keep  them  together,  and  there  was  a 
bustle  and  liveliness  to  a  degree  I  can't  write 
about,  and  Jone  and  I  never  thought  about  going 
in  to  breakfast  until  all  those  horses,  some  led 
and  some  ridden,  and  the  men  and  the  hounds, 
and  even  the  dust  from  their  feet,  had  disap 
peared. 

I  wanted  to  go  see  the  hunt  start  off,  but  Mr. 
Poplington  said  it  was  two  or  three  miles  distant, 
and  out  of  our  way,  and  that  we'd  better  move  on 
as  soon  as  possible  so  as  to  reach  Chedcombe  that 


n6  Pomona s    Travels 

night ;  but  he  was  glad,  he  said,  that  we  had  had  a 
chance  to  see  the  hounds  and  the  horses. 

As  for  himself,  I  could  see  he  was  a  little  down  in 
the  mouth,  for  he  said  he  was  very  fond  of  hunting, 
and  that  if  he  had  known  of  this  meet  he  would 
have  been  there  with  a  horse  and  his  hunting 
clothes.  I  think  he  hoped  somebody  would  lend 
him  a  horse,  but  nobody  did,  and  not  being  able  to 
hunt  himself  he  disliked  seeing  other  people  doing 
what  he  could  not.  Of  course,  Jone  and  me  could 
not  go  to  the  hunt  by  ourselves,  so  after  we'd  had 
our  tea  and  toast  and  bacon  we  started  off.  I  will 
say  here  that  when  I  was  at  the  Ship  Inn  I  had  tea 
for  my  breakfast,  for  I  couldn't  bring  my  mind  to 
order  coffee — a  drink  the  Saxons  must  never  have 
heard  of — in  such  a  place  ;  and  since  that  we  have 
been  drinking  it  because  Jone  said  there  was  no  use 
fighting  against  established  drinks,  and  that  anyway 
he  thought  good  tea  was  better  than  bad  coffee. 


Letter  Number   Twelve 

CHEDCOMBE 

As  I  said  in  my  last  letter,  we  started  out  for 
Chedcombe,  not  abreast,  as  we  had  been  before,  but 
strung  along  the  road,  and  me  and  Mr.  Poplington 
pretty  doleful,  being  disappointed  and  not  wanting 
to  talk.  But  as  for  Jone,  he  seemed  livelier  than 
ever,  and  whistled  a  lot  of  tunes  he  didn't  know.  I 
think  it  always  makes  him  lively  to  get  rid  of  seeing 
sights.  The  sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  there 
was  no  reason  to  expect  rain  for  two  or  three  hours 
anyway,  and  the  country  we  passed  through  was  so 
fine,  with  hardly  any  houses,  and  with  great  hills 
and  woods,  and  sometimes  valleys  far  below  the 
road,  with  streams  rushing  and  bubbling,  that  after 
a  while  I  began  to  feel  better,  and  I  pricked  up  my 
tricycle,  and,  of  course,  being  followed  by  Jone,  we 
left  Mr.  Poplington,  whose  melancholy  seemed  to 
have  gotten  into  his  legs,  a  good  way  behind. 

We  must  have  travelled  two  or  three  hours  when 
all  of  a  sudden  I  heard  a  noise  afar,  and  I  drew  up 
and  listened.  The  noise  was  the  barking  of  dogs, 
and  it  seemed  to  come  from  a  piece  of  woods  on 
the  other  side  of  the  field  which  lay  to  the  right 
of  the  road.  The  next  instant  something  shot  out 


1 1 8  Pomona  s   Travels 

from  under  the  trees  and  began  going  over  the  field 
in  ten-foot  hops.  I  sat  staring  without  understand 
ing,  but  when  I  saw  a  lot  of  brown  and  white  spots 
bounce  out  of  the  wood,  and  saw,  a  long  way  back 
in  the  open  field,  two  red-coated  men  on  horseback, 
the  truth  flashed  upon  me  that  this  was  the  hunt. 
The  creature  in  front  was  the  stag,  who  had  chosen 
to  come  this  way,  and  the  dogs  and  the  horses  was 
after  him,  and  I  was  here  to  see  it  all. 

Almost  before  I  got  this  all  straight  in  my  mind 
the  deer  was  nearly  opposite  me  on  the  other  side 
of  the  field,  going  the  same  way  that  we  were.  In 
a  second  I  clapped  spurs  into  my  tricycle  and  was 
off.  In  front  of  me  was  a  long  stretch  of  down 
grade,  and  over  this  I  went  as  fast  as  I  could  work 
my  pedals  ;  no  brakes  or  holding  back  for  me.  My 
blood  was  up,  for  I  was  actually  in  a  deer  hunt,  and 
to  my  amazement  and  wild  delight  I  found  I  was 
keeping  up  with  the  deer.  I  was  going  faster  than 
the  men  on  horseback. 

"  Hi !  Hi !  "  I  shouted,  and  down  I  went  with 
one  eye  on  the  deer  and  the  other  on  the  road, 
every  atom  of  my  body  tingling  with  fiery  excite 
ment.  When  I  began  to  go  up  the  little  slope 
ahead  I  heard  Jone  puffing  behind  me. 

"  You  will  break  your  neck,"  he  Shouted,  "  if  you 
go  down  hill  that  way,"  and  getting  close  up  to 
me  he  fastened  his  cord  to  my  tricycle.  But  I  paid 
no  attention  to  him  or  his  advice. 


Pomona  s   Travels  1 1 9 

"The  stag!  The  stag!"  I  cried.  "  As  long  as 
he  keeps  near  the  road  we  can  follow  him  !  Hi  !  " 
And  having  got  up  to  the  top  of  the  next  hill  I 
made  ready  to  go  down  as  fast  as  I  had  gone 
before,  for  we  had  fallen  back  a  little,  and  the  stag 
was  now  getting  ahead  of  us ;  but  it  made  me  gnash 
my  teeth  to  find  that  I  could  not  go  fast,  for  Jone 
held  back  with  all  his  force  (and  both  feet  on  the 
ground,  I  expect),  and  I  could  not  get  on  at  all. 

"  Let  go  of  me,"  I  cried,  "  we  shall  lose  the  stag. 
Stop  holding  back."  But  it  wasn't  any  use  ;  Jone's 
heels  must  have  been  nearly  rubbed  off,  but  he  held 
back  like  a  good  fellow,  and  I  seemed  to  be  moving 
along  no  faster  than  a  worm.  I  could  not  stand 
this  ;  my  blood  boiled  and  bubbled  ;  the  deer  was 
getting  away  from  me  ;  and  if  it  had  been  Porlock 
Hill  in  front  of  me  I  would  have  dashed  on,  not 
caring  whether  the  road  was  steep  or  level. 

A  thought  flashed  across  my  mind,  and  I  clapped 
my  hand  into  my  pocket  and  jerked  out  a  pair  of 
scissors.  In  an  instant  I  was  free.  The  world  and 
the  stag  was  before  me,  and  I  was  flying  along 
with  a  tornado-like  swiftness  that  soon  brought 
me  abreast  of  the  deer.  This  perfectly  splendid, 
bounding  creature  was  not  far  away  from  me  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hedge,  and  as  the  field  was  higher 
than  the  road  I  could  see  him  perfectly.  His  legs 
worked  so  regular  and  springy,  except  when  he 
came  to  a  cross  hedge,  which  he  went  over  with  a 


I2O 


Pomona  s   Travels 


single  clip,  and  came  down  like  India  rubber  on  the 
other  side,  that  one  might  have  thought  he  was 
measuring  the  grass,  and  keeping  an  account  of  his 
jumps  in  his  head. 

For  one  instant  I  looked  around  for  che  hounds, 
and  I  saw  there  was  not  more  than  half  a  dozen  fol- 


"  In  an  instant  I  was  free  " 

lowing  him,  and  I  could  only  see  the  two  hunters 
I  had  seen  before,  and  these  was  still  a  good  way 
back.  As  for  Jone,  I  couldn't  hear  him  at  all,  and 
he  must  have  been  left  far  behind.  There  was  still 
the  woods  on  the  other  side,  and  the  deer  seemed 
to  run  to  keep  away  from  that  and  to  cross  the 


Pomona  s   Travels  121 

road,  and  he  came  nearer  and  nearer  until  I  fancied 
he  kept  an  eye  on  me  as  if  he  was  wondering  if  I 
was  of  any  consequence,  and  if  I  could  hinder  him 
from  crossing  the  road  and  getting  away  into  the 
valley  below  where  there  was  a  regular  wilderness 
of  woods  and  underbrush. 

If  he  does  that,  I  thought,  he  will  be  gone  in  a 
minute  and  I  shall  lose  him,  and  the  hunt  will  be 
over.  And  for  fear  he  would  make  for  the  hedge 
and  jump  over  it,  not  minding  me,  I  jerked  out 
my  handkerchief  and  shook  it  at  him.  You  can't 
imagine  how  this  frightened  him.  He  turned  sharp 
to  the  right,  dashed  up  the  hill,  cleared  a  hedge  and 
was  gone.  I  gave  a  gasp  and  a  scream  as  I  saw 
him  disappear.  I  believe  I  cried,  but  I  didn't  stop, 
and  glad  I  was  that  I  didn't ;  for  in  less  than  a 
minute  I  had  come  to  a  cross  lane  which  led  in  the 
very  direction  the  deer  had  taken.  I  turned  into 
this  lane  and  went  on  as  fast  as  I  could,  and  I  soon 
found  that  it  led  through  a  thick  wood.  Down  -in 
the  hollow,  which  I  could  not  see  into,  I  heard  a 
barking  and  shouting,  and  I  kept  on  just  as  fast  as 
I  could  make  that  tricycle  go.  Where  the  lane  led 
to,  or  what  I  should  ever  come  to,  I  didn't  think 
about.  I  was  hunting  a  stag,  and  all  I  cared  for 
was  to  feel  my  tricycle  bounding  beneath  me. 

I  may  have  gone  a  half  a  mile  or  two  miles — I 
have  not  an  idea  how  far  it  was — when  suddenly  I 
came  to  a  place  where  there  was  green  grass  and 


122  Pomona  s   Travels 

rocks  in  an  opening  in  the  woods,  and  what  a  sight 
I  saw  !  There  was  that  beautiful,  grand,  red  deer 
half  down  on  his  knees  and  perfectly  quiet,  and 
there  was  one  of  the  men  in  red  coats  coming 
toward  him  with  a  great  knife  in  his  hand,  and  a 
little  farther  back  was  three  or  four  dogs  with 
another  man,  still  on  horseback,  whipping  them  to 
keep  them  back,  though  they  seemed  willing  enough 
to  lie  there  with  their  tongues  out,  panting.  As 
the  man  with  the  knife  came  up  to  the  deer,  the 
poor  creature  raised  its  eyes  to  him,  and  didn't 
seem  to  mind  whether  he  came  or  not.  It  was 
trembling  all  over  and  fairly  tired  to  death.  When 
the  man  got  near  enough  he  took  hold  of  one  of 
the  deer's  horns  and  lifted  up  the  hand  with  the 
knife  in  it,  but  he  didn't  bring  it  down  on  that 
deer's  throat,  I  can  tell  you,  madam,  for  I  was  there 
and  had  him  by  the  arm. 

He  turned  on  me  as  if  he  had  been  struck  by 
lightning. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  shouted.  "  Let  go  my 
arm." 

"  Don't  you  touch  that  deer,"  said  I — my  voice 
was  so  husky  I  could  hardly  speak — "  don't  you  see 
it's  surrendered  ?  Can  you  have  the  heart  to  cut 
that  beautiful  throat  when  he  is  pleading  for 
mercy  ?  "  The  man's  eyes  looked  as  if  they 
would  burst  out  of  his  head.  He  gave  me  a 
pull  and  a  push  as  if  he  would  stick  the  knife 


Pomona  s   Travels  125 

into  me,  and  he  actually  swore  at  me,  but  I  didn't 
mind  that. 

"  You  have  got  that  poor  creature  now,"  said  I, 
41  and  that's  enough.  Keep  it  and  tame  it  and  bring 
it  up  with  your  children."  I  didn't  have  time 
to  say  anything  more,  and  he  didn't  have  time  to 
answer,  for  two  of  the  dogs  who  had  got  a  little  of 
their  wind  back  sprang  up  and  made  a  jump  at  the 
stag ;  and  he,  having  got  a  little  of  his  wind  back, 
jerked  his  horn  out  of  the  hand  of  the  man,  and 
giving  a  sort  of  side  spring  backward  among  the 
bushes  and  rocks,  away  he  went,  the  dogs  after 
him. 

The  man  with  the  knife  rushed  out  into  the  lane, 
and  so  did  I,  and  so  did  the  man  on  horseback, 
almost  on  top  of  me.  On  the  other  side  of  the  lane 
was  a  little  gorge  with  rocks  and  trees  and  water  at 
the  bottom  of  it,  and  I  was  just  in  time  to  see  the 
stag  'spring  over  the  lane  and  drop  out  of  sight 
among  the  rocks  and  the  moss  and  the  vines. 

The  man  stood  and  swore  at  me  regardless  of  my 
sex,  so  violent  was  his  rage. 

"  If  you  was  a  man  I'd  break  your  head,"  he 
yelled. 

"  I'm  glad  I'm  not,"  said  I,  "  for  I  wouldn't  want 
my  head  broken.  But  what  troubles  me  is,  that  I'm 
afraid  that  deer  has  broken  his  legs  or  hurt  himself 
some  way,  for  I  never  saw  anything  drop  on  rocks  in 
such  a  reckless  manner,  and  the  poor  thing  so  tired." 


126  Pomona  s   Travels 

The  man  swore  again,  and  said  something  about 
wishing  somebody  else's  legs  had  been  broken  ;  and 
then  he  shouted  to  the  man  on  horseback  to  call  off 
the  dogs,  which  was  of  no  use,  for  he  was  doing  it 
already.  Then  he  turned  on  me  again. 

'*  You  are  an  American,"  he  shouted.  "  I  might 
have  known  that.  No  English  woman  would  ever 
have  done  such  a  beastly  thing  as  that." 

"  You're  mistaken  there,"  I  said  ;  "  there  isn't  a 
true  English  woman  that  lives  who  would  not  have 
done  the  same  thing.  Your  mother " 

"  Confound  my  mother!  "  yelled  the  man. 

"  All  right,"  said  I ;  "  that's  all  in  your  family  and 
none  of  my  business."  Then  he  went  off  raging  to 
where  he  had  left  his  horse  by  a  gatepost. 

The  other  man,  who  was  a  good  deal  younger  and 
more  friendly,  came  up  to  me  and  said  he  wouldn't 
like  to  be  in  my  boots,  for  I  had  spoiled  a  pretty 
piece  of  sport ;  and  then  he  went  on  and  tol'd  me 
that  it  had  been  a  bad  hunt,  for  instead  of  starting 
only  one  stag,  three  or  four  of  them  had  been  started, 
and  they  had  had  a  bad  time,  for  the  hounds  and 
the  hunters  had  been  mixed  up  in  a  nasty  way. 
And  at  last,  when  the  master  of  the  hounds  and  most 
every  one  else  had  gone  off  over  Dunkery  Hill,  and 
he  didn't  know  whether  they  was  after  two  stags  or 
one,  he  and  his  mate,  who  was  both  whippers-in,  had 
gone  to  turn  part  of  the  pack  that  had  broken  away, 
and  had  found  that  these  dogs  was  after  another 


Pomona  s    Travels  1 27 

stag,  and  so  before  they  knew  it  they  was  in  a  hunt 
of  their  own,  and  they  would  have  killed  that  stag 
if  it  had  not  been  for  me  ;  and  he  said  it  was  hard 
on  his  mate,  for  he  knew  he  had  it  in  mind  that  he 
was  going  to  kill  the  only  stag  of  the  day. 

He  went  on  to  say,  that  as  for  himself  he  wasn't 
so  sorry,  for  this  was  Sir  Skiddery  Henchball's  land, 
and  when  a  stag  was  killed  it  belonged  to  the  man 
whose  land  it  died  on.  He  told  me  that  the  master 
of  the  hunt  gets  the  head  and  the  antlers,  and  the 
huntsman  some  other  part,  which  I  forget,  but  the 
owner  of  the  land,  no  matter  whether  he's  in  the 
hunt  or  not,  gets  the  body  of  the  stag.  "  There's  a 
cottage  not  a  mile  down  this  lane,"  said  he, 
"  with  its  thatch  torn  off,  and  my  sister  and  her 
children  live  there,  and  Sir  Skiddery  turned  them 
out  on  account  of  the  rent,  and  so  I'm  glad  the  old 
skinflint  didn't  get  the  venison."  And  then  he  went 
off,  being  called  by  the  other  man. 

I  didn't  know  what  time  it  was,  but  it  seemed  as 
if  it  must  be  getting  on  into  the  afternoon  ;  and  feel 
ing  that  my  deer  hunt  was  over,  I  thought  I  had 
better  lose  no  time  in  hunting  up  Jone,  so  I  followed 
on  after  the  men  and  the  dogs,  who  was  going  to 
the  main  road,  but  keeping  a  little  back  of  them, 
though,  for  I  didn't  know  what  the  older  one  might 
do  if  he  happened  to  turn  and  see  me. 

I  was  sure  that  Jone  had  passed  the  little  lane 
without  seeing  it,  so  I  kept  on  the  way  we  had  been 


1 28  Pomona  s    Travels 

going,  and  got  up  all  the  speed  I  could,  though  I 
must  say  I  was  dreadfully  tired,  and  even  trembling 
a  little,  for  while  I  had  been  stag  hunting  I  was  so 
excited  I  didn't  know  how  much  work  I  was  doing. 
There  was  sign-posts  enough  to  tell  me  the  way  to 
Chedcombe,  and  so  I  kept  straight  on,  up  hill  and 
down  hill,  until  at  last  I  saw  a  man  ahead  on  a 
bicycle,  which  I  soon  knew  to  be  Mr.  Poplington. 
He  was  surprised  enough  at  seeing  me,  and  told 
me  my  husband  had  gone  ahead.  I  didn't  explain 
anything,  and  it  wasn't  until  we  got  nearly  to 
Chedcombe  that  we  met  Jone.  He  had  been  to 
Chedcombe,  and  was  coming  back. 

Jone  is  a  good  fellow,  but  he's  got  a  will  of  his 
own,  and  he  said  that  this  would  be  the  end  of  my 
tricycle  riding,  and  that  the  next  time  we  went  out 
together  on  wheels  he'd  drive.  I  didn't  tell  him 
anything  about  the  stag  hunt  then,  for  he  seemed  to 
be  in  favor  of  doing  all  the  talking  himself ;  but 
after  dinner,  when  we  was  all  settled  down  quiet 
and  comfortable,  I  told  him  and  Mr.  Poplington  the 
story  of  the  chase,  and  they  both  laughed,  Mr.  Pop 
lington  the  most. 


Letter  Dumber  Thirteen 

CHEDCOMBE,  SOMERSETSHIRE 

IT  is  now  about  a  week  since  my  stag  hunt,  and 
Jone  and  I  have  kept  pretty  quiet,  taking  short 
walks,  and  doing  a  good  deal  of  reading  in  our  gar 
den  whenever  the  sun  shines  into  the  little  arbor 
there,  and  Mr.  Poplington  spends  most  of  his  time 
fishing.  He  works  very  hard  at  this,  partly  for  the 
sake  of  his  conscience,  I  think,  for  his  bicycle  trip 
made  him  lose  three  or  four  days  he  had  taken  a 
license  for. 

It  wras  day  before  yesterday  that  rheumatism 
showed  itself  certain  and  plain  in  Jone.  I  had  been 
thinking  that  perhaps  I  might  have  it  first,  but  it 
wasn't  so,  and  it  began  in  Jone,  which,  though  I 
don't  want  you  to  think  me  hard-hearted,  madam, 
was  perhaps  better ;  for  if  it  had  not  been  for  it, 
it  might  have  been  hard  to  get  him  out  of  this 
comfortable  little  cottage,  where  he'd  be  perfectly 
content  to  stay  until  it  was  time  for  us  to  sail  for 
America.  The  beautiful  greenness  which  spreads 
over  the  fields  and  hills,  and  not  only  the  leaves  of 
trees  and  vines,  but  down  and  around  trunks  and 
branches,  is  charming  to  look  at  and  never  to  be 
9 


1 30  Pomona  s    Travels 

forgotten  ;  but  when  this  moist  greenness  spreads 
itself  to  one's  bones,  especially  when  it  creeps  up 
to  the  parts  that  work  together,  then  the  soul  of 
man  longs  for  less  picturesqueness  and  more  easy 
going  joints.  Jone  says  the  English  take  their 
climate  as  they  do  their  whiskey ;  and  he  calls  it 
climate-and-water,  with  a  very  little  of  the  first  and 
a  good  deal  of  the  other. 

Of  course,  we  must  now  leave  Chedcombe ;  and 
when  we  talked  to  Mr.  Poplington  about  it  he  said 
there  was  two  places  the  English  went  to  for  their 
rheumatism.  One  was  Bath,  not  far  from  here,  and 
the  other  was  Buxton,  up  in  the  north.  As  soon  as 
I  heard  of  Bath  I  was  on  pins  and  needles  to  go 
there,  for  in  all  the  novel-reading  I've  done,  which 
has  been  getting  better  and  better  in  quality  since 
the  days  when  I  used  to  read  dime  novels  on  the 
canal-boat,  up  to  now  when  I  like  the  best  there  is, 
I  could  not  help  knowing  lots  about  Evelina  and 
Beau  Brummel,  and  the  Pump  Room,  and  the  fine 
ladies  and  young  bucks,  and  it  would  have  joyed  my 
soul  to -live  and  move  where  all  these  people  had 
been,  and  where  all  these  things  had  happened,  even 
if  fictitiously. 

But  Mr.  Poplington  came  down  like  a  shower  on 
my  notions,  and  said  that  Bath  was  very  warm,  and 
was  the  place  where  everybody  went  for  their  rheu 
matism  in  winter;  but  that  Buxton  was  the  place  for 
the  summer,  because  it  was  on  high  land  and  cool. 


Pomona  s   Travels  1 3 1 

This  cast  me  down  a  good  deal ;  for  if  we  could  have 
gone  where  I  could  have  steeped  my  soul  in  roman- 
ticness,  and  at  the  same  time  Jone  could  have 
steeped  himself  in  warm  mineral  water,  there  would 
not  have  been  any  time  lost,  and  both  of  us  would 
have  been  happier.  But  Mr.  Poplington  stuck  to  it 
that  it  would  ruin  anybody's  constitution  to  go  to 
such  a  hot  place  in  August,  and  so  I  had  to  give 
it  up. 

So  to-morrow  we  start  for  Buxton,  which,  from 
what  I  can  make  out,  must  be  a  sort  of  invalid 
picnic  ground.  I  always  did  hate  diseases  and  ail 
ments,  even  of  the  mildest,  when  they  go  in  caravan. 
I  like  to  take  people's  sicknesses  separate,  because 
then  I  feel  I  might  do  something  to  help ;  but  when 
they  are  bunched  I  feel  as  if  it  was  sort  of  mean  for 
me  to  go  about  cheerful  and  singing  when  other 
people  was  all  grunting. 

But  we  are  not  going  straight  to  Buxton.  As  I 
have  often  said,  Jone  is  a  good  fellow,  and  he  told 
me  last  night  if  there  was  any  bit  of  fancy  scenery 
I'd  like  to  stop  on  the  way  to  the  unromantic  refuge 
he'd  be  glad  to  give  me  the  chance,  because  he 
didn't  suppose  it  would  matter  much  if  he  put  off 
his  hot  soaks  for  a  few  days.  It  didn't  take  me 
long  to  name  a  place  I'd  like  to  stop  at — for  most 
of  my  reading  lately  has  been  in  the  guide  books, 
and  I  had  crammed  myself  with  the  descriptions  of 
places  worth  seeing,  that  would  take  us  at  least  two 


132  Pomona  s   Travels 

years  to  look  at — so  I  said  I  would  like  to  go  to 
the  River  Wye,  which  is  said  to  be  the  most  roman 
tic  stream  in  England,  and  when  that  is  said,  enough 
is  said  for  me,  so  Jone  agreed,  and  we  are  going  to 
do  the  Wye  on  our  way  north. 

There  is  going  to  be  an  election  here  in  a  few 
days,  and  this  morning  Jone  and  me  hobbled  into 
the  village — that  is,  he  hobbled  in  body,  and  I  did 
in  mind  to  think  of  his  going  along  like  a  creaky 
wheelbarrow. 

Everybody  was  agog  about  the  election,  and  we 
was  looking  at  some  placards  posted  against  a  wall, 
when  Mr.  Locky,  the  innkeeper,  came  along,  and 
after  bidding  us  good-morning  he  asked  Jone  what 
party  he  belonged  to.  "  I'm  a  Home  Ruler,"  said 
Jone,  "  especially  in  the  matter  of  tricycles."  Mr. 
Locky  didn't  understand  the  last  part  of  this  speech, 
but  I  did,  and  he  said,  "  I  am  glad  you  are  not  a 
Tory,  sir.  If  you  will  read  that,  you  will  see  what 
the  Tory  party  has  done  for  us,"  and  he  pointed  out 
some  lines  at  the  bottom  of  a  green  placard,  and 
these  was  the  words  :  "  Remember  it  was  the  Tory 
party  that  lost  us  the  United  States  of  America." 

"  Well,"  said  Jone,  "  that  seems  like  going  a  long 
way  off  to  get  some  stones  to  throw  at  the  Tories, 
but  I  feel  inclined  to  heave  a  rock  at  them  myself 
for  the  injury  that  party  has  done  to  America." 

"  To  America !  "  said  Mr.  Locky,  "  Did  the 
Tories  ever  harm  America  ?  " 


Pomona  s    Travels 


133 


"Of  course  they  did,"  said  Jone;  "  they  lost  us 
England,  a  very  valuable  country,  indeed,  and  a 
great  loss  to  any  nation.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the 


1  I'm  a  Home  Ruler  " 


Tory  party,   Mr.  Gladstone  might  now  be  in  Wash 
ington  as  a  senator  from  Middlesex." 

Mr.  Locky  didn't   understand  one  word  of  this, 


134  Pomona  s   Travels 

and  so  he  asked  Jone  which  leg  his  rheumatism  was 
in ;  and  when  Jone  told  him  it  was  his  left  leg  he  said 
it  was  a  very  curious  thing,  but  if  you  would  take  a 
hundred  men  in  Chedcombe  there  would  be  at  least 
sixty  with  rheumatism  in  the  left  leg,  and  perhaps 
not  more  than  twenty  with  it  in  the  right,  which 
was  something  the  doctors  never  had  explained  yet. 

It  is  awfully  hard  to  go  away  and  leave  this  lovely 
little  cottage  with  its  roses  and  vines,  and  Miss  Pon- 
dar,  and  all  its  sweet-smelling  comforts ;  and  not 
only  the  cottage,  but  the  village,  and  Mrs.  Locky 
and  her  husband  at  the  Bordley  Arms,  who  couldn't 
have  been  kinder  to  us  and  more  anxious  to  know 
what  we  wanted  and  what  they  could  do.  The  fact 
is,  that  when  English  people  do  like  Americans  they 
go  at  it  with  just  as  much  vim  and  earnestness  as  if 
they  was  helping  Britannia  to  rule  more  waves. 

While  I  was  feeling  badly  at  leaving  Miss  Pondar 
your  letter  came,  dear  madam,  and  I  must  say  it 
gave  heavy  hearts  to  Jone  and  me,  to  me  especially, 
as  you  can  well  understand.  I  went  off  into  the 
summer-house,  and  as  I  sat  there  thinking  and  read 
ing  the  letter  over  again,  I  do  believe  some  tears 
came  into  my  eyes ;  and  Miss  Pondar,  who  was 
working  in  the  garden  only  a  little  way  off — for 
if  there  is  anything  she  likes  to  do  it  is  to  weed 
and  fuss  among  the  rose-bushes  and  other  flowers, 
which  she  does  whenever  her  other  work  gives  her 
a  chance — she  happened  to  look  up,  and  seeing  that 


Pomona  s   Travels  135 

I  was  in  trouble,  she  came  right  to  me,  like  the 
good  woman  she  is,  and  asked  me  if  I  had  heard 
bad  news,  and  if  I  would  like  a  little  gin  and  water. 

I  said  that  I  had  had  bad  news,  but  that  I  did 
not  want  any  spirits,  and  she  said  she  hoped  noth 
ing  had  happened  to  any  of  my  family,  and  I  told 
her  not  exactly ;  but  in  looking  back  it  seemed  as  if 
it  was  almost  that  way.  I  thought  I  ought  to  tell 
her  what  had  happened,  for  I  could  see  that  she  was 
really  feeling  for  me,  and  so  I  said :  "  Poor  Lord 
Edward  is  dead.  To  be  sure,  he  was  very  old,  and 
I  suppose  we  had  not  any  right  to  think  he'd  live 
even  as  long  as  he  did  ;  and  as  he  was  nearly  blind 
and  had  very  poor  use  of  his  legs  it  was,  perhaps, 
better  that  he  should  go.  But  when  I  think  of 
what  friends  we  used  to  be  before  I  was  married,  I 
can't  help  feeling  badly  to  think  that  he  has  gone; 
that  when  I  go  back  to  America  he  will  not  show 
he  is  glad  to  see  me  home  again,  which  he  would  be 
if  there  wasn't  another  soul  on  the  whole  continent 
who  felt  that  way." 

Miss  Pondar  was  now  standing  up  with  her  hands 
folded  in  front  of  her,  and  her  head  bowed  down 
as  if  she  was  walking  behind  a  hearse  with  eight 
ostrich  plumes  on  it.  "  Lord  Edward,"  she  said, 
in  a  melancholy,  respectful  voice,  "  and  will  his 
remains  be  brought  to  England  for  interment  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  I,  not  understanding  what  she  was 
talking  about.  "  I  am  sure  he  will  be  buried  some- 


136  Pomona  s    Travels 

where  near  his  home,  and  when  I  go  back  his  grave 
will  be  one  of  the  first  places  I  will  visit." 

A  streak  of  bewilderment  began  to  show,  itself  in 
Miss  Pondar's  melancholy  respectfulness,  and  she 
said  :  "  Of  course,  when  one  lives  in  foreign  parts 
one  may  die  there,  but  I  always  thought  in  cases 
like  that  they  were  brought  home  to  their  family 
vaults." 

It  may  seem  strange  for  me  to  think  of  anything 
funny  at  a  time  like  this,  but  when  Miss  Pondar 
mentioned  family  vaults  when  talking  of  Lord 
Edward,  there  came  into  my  mind  the  jumps  he 
used  to  make  whenever  he  saw  any  of  us  coming 
home ;  but  I  saw  what  she  was  driving  at  and  the 
mistake  she  had  made.  "  Oh,"  I  said,  "  he  was  not 
a  member  of  the  British  nobility;  he  was  a  dog; 
Lord  Edward  was  his  name.  I  never  loved  any 
animal  as  I  loved  him." 

I  suppose,  madam,  that  you  must  sometimes 
have  noticed  one  of  the  top  candles  of  a  chandelier, 
when  the  room  gets  hot,  suddenly  bending  over  and 
drooping  and  shedding  tears  of  hot  paraffme  on  the 
candles  below,  and  perhaps  on  the  table ;  and  if  you 
can  remember  what  that  overcome  candle  looked 
like,  you  will  have  an  idea  of  what  Miss  Pondar 
looked  like  when  she  found  out  Lord  Edward  was  a 
dog.  I  think  that  for  one  brief  moment  she  hugged 
to  her  bosom  the  fond  belief  that  I  was  intimate 
with  the  aristocracy,  and  that  a  noble  lord,  had  he 


Pomona  s    Travels  137 

not  departed  this  life,  would  have  been  the  first  to 
welcome  me  home,  and  that  she — she  herself — was 
in  my  service.  But  the  drop  was  an  awful  one.  I 
could  see  the  throes  of  mortified  disappointment  in 
her  back,  as  she  leaned  over  a  bed  of  pinks,  pulling 
out  young  plants,  I  am  afraid,  as  well  as  weeds. 
When  I  looked  at  her,  I  was  sorry  I  let  her  know 
it  was  a  dog  I  mourned.  She  has  tried  so  hard  to 
make  everything  all  right  while  we  have  been  here, 
that  she  might  just  as  well  have  gone  on  thinking 
that  it  was  a  noble  earl  who  died. 

To-morrow  morning  we  shall  have  our  last 
Devonshire  clotted  cream,  for  they  tell  me  this  is 
to  be  had  only  in  the  west  of  England,  and  when  I 
think  of  the  beautiful  hills  and  vales  of  this  country 
I  shall  not  forget  that. 

Of  course  we  would  not  have  time  to  stay  here 
longer,  even  if  Jone  hadn't  got  the  rheumatism  ;  but 
if  he  had  to  have  it,  for  which  I  am  as  sorry  as  any 
body  can  be,  it  is  a  lucky  thing  that  he  did  have  it 
just  about  the  time  that  we  ought  to  be  going  away, 
anyhow.  And  although  I  did  not  think,  when  we 
came  to  England,  that  we  should  ever  go  to  Buxton, 
we  are  thankful  that  there  is  such  a  place  to  go  to ; 
although,  for  my  part,  I  can't  help  feeling  disap 
pointed  that  the  season  isn't  such  that  we  could  go 
to  Bath,  and  Evelina  and  Beau  Brummel. 


Letter  Number  Fourteen 


BELL  HOTEL,  GLOUCESTER 
E  came  to  this  queer  old  English 
town,  not  because  it  is  any  better 
than  so  many  other  towns,  but  be 
cause  Mr.  Poplington  told  us  it  was 
a  good  place  for  our  headquarters  while  we  was 
seeing  the  River  Wye  and  other  things  in  the  neigh 
borhood.  This  hotel  is  the  best  in  the  town  and 
very  well  kept,  so  that  Jone  made  his  usual  remark 
about  its  being  a  good  place  to  stay  in.  We  are 
near  the  point  where  the  four  principal  streets  of  the 
town,  called  Northgate,  Eastgate,  Southgate,  and 
Westgate,  meet,  and  if  there  was  nothing  else  to  see 
it  would  be  worth  while  to  stand  there  and  look  at 


Pomona  s   Travels  1 39 

so  much  Englishism  coming  and  going  from  four 
different  quarters. 

There  is  another  hotel  here,  called  the  New  Inn, 
that  was  recommended  to  us,  but  I  thought  we 
would  not  want  to  go  there,  for  we  came  to  see  old 
England,  and  I  don't  want  to  see  its  new  and  shiny 
things,  so  we  came  to  the  Bell,  as  being  more 
antique.  But  I  have  since  found  out  that  the  New 
Inn  was  built  in  1450  to  accommodate  the  pilgrims 
who  came  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  tomb  of 
Edward  II.  in  the  fine  old  cathedral  here.  But 
though  I  should  like  to  live  in  a  four-hundred-and 
forty-year-old  house,  we  are  very  well  satisfied  where 
we  are. 

Two  very  good  things  come  from  Gloucester,  for 
it  is  the  well-spring  of  Sunday  schools  and  va'cci- 
nation.  They  keep  here  the  horns  of  the  cow  that 
Dr.  Jenner  first  vaccinated  from,  and  not  far  from 
our  hotel  is  the  house  of  Robert  Raikes.  This  is  an 
old-fashioned  timber  house,  and  looks  like  a  man 
wearing  his  skeleton  outside  of  his  skin.  We  are 
sorry  Mr.  Poplington  couldn't  come  here  with  us, 
for  he  could  have  shown  us  a  great  many  things; 
but  he  stayed  at  Chedcombe  to  finish  his  fishing, 
and  he  said  he  might  meet  us  at  Buxton,  where 
he  goes  every  year  for  his  arm. 

To  see  the  River  Wye  you  must  go  down  it,  so 
with  just  one  handbag  we  took  the  train  for  the 
little  town  of  Ross,  which  is  near  the  beginning  of 


1 40  Pomona  s    Travels 

the  navigable  part  of  the  river — I  might  almost  say 
the  wadeable  part,  for  I  imagine  the  deepest  sound 
ings  about  Ross  are  not  more  than  half  a  yard.  We 
stayed  all  night  at  a  hotel  overlooking  the  valley  of 
the  little  river,  and  as  the  best  way  to  see  this  won 
derful  stream  is  to  go  down  it  in  a  rowboat,  as  soon 
as  we  reached  Ross  we  engaged  a  boat  and  a  man 
for  the  next  morning  to  take  us  to  Monmouth, 
which  would  be  about  a  day's  row,  and  give  us  the 
best  part  of  the  river.  But  I  must  say  that  when 
we  looked  out  over  the  valley  the  prospect  was  not 
*>  very  encouraging,  for  it  seemed  to  me  that  if  the 
sun  came  out  hot  it  would  dry  up  that  river,  and 
Jone  might  not  be  willing  to  wait  until  the  next 
heavy  rain. 

While  we  was  at  Chedcombe  I  read  the  "  Maid  of 
Sker,"  because  its  scenes  are  laid  in  the  Bristol 
Channel,  about  the  coast  near  where  we  was,  and 
over  in  Wales.  And  when  the  next  morning  we 
went  down  to  the  boat  which  we  was  going  to  take 
our  day's  trip  in,  and  I  saw  the  man  who  was  to 
row  us,  David  Llewellyn  popped  straight  into  my 
mind. 

This  man  was  elderly,  with  gray  hair,  and  a  beard 
under  his  chin,  with  a  general  air  of  water  and  fish. 
He  was  good-natured  and  sociable  from  the  very 
beginning.  It  seemed  a  shame  that,  an  old  man 
should  row  two  people  so  much  younger  than  he 
was,  but  after  I  had  looked  at  him  pulling  at  his 


Pomona  s    Travels  141 

oars  for  a  little  while,  I  saw  that  there  was  no  need 
of  pitying  him. 

It  was  a  good  day,  with  only  one  or  two  drizzles 
in  the  morning,  and  we  had  not  gone  far  before 
I  found  that  the  Wye  was  more  of  a  river  than  I 
thought  it  was,  though  never  any  bigger  than  a 
creek.  It  was  just  about  warm  enough  for  a  boat 
trip,  though  the  old  man  told  us  there  had  been  a 
"  rime  "  that  morning,  which  made  me  think  of  the 
"  Ancient  Mariner."  The  more  the  boatman  talked 
and  made  queer  jokes,  the  more  I  wanted  to  ask 
him  his  name ;  and  I  hoped  he  would  say  David 
Llewellyn,  or  at  least  David,  and  as  a  sort  of  feeler 
I  asked  him  if  he  had  ever  seen  a  coracle.  "  A 
corkle?  "  said  he.  "  Oh,  yes,  ma'am,  I've  seen  many 
a  one  and  rowed  in  them." 

I  couldn't  wait  any  longer,  and  so  I  asked  him  his 
name.  He  stopped  rowing  and  leaned  on  his  oars 
and  let  the  boat  drift.  "  Now,"  said  he,  "  if  you've 
got  a  piece  of  paper  and  a  pencil  I  wish  you  would 
listen  careful  and  put  down  my  name,  and  if  you 
ever  know  of  any  other  people  in  your  country 
coming  to  the  River  Wye,  I  wish  you  would  tell 
them  my  name,  and  say  I  am  a  boatman,  and  can 
take  them  down  the  river  better  than  anybody  else 
that's  on  it.  My  name  is  Samivel  Jones.  Be  sure 
you've  got  that  right,  please — Samivel  Jones.  I 
was  born  on  this  river,  and  I  rowed  on  it  with 
my  father  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  I  have  rowed  on 


142  Pomona  s   Travels 

it  ever  since,  and  now  I  am  sixty-five  years  old. 
Do  you  want  to  know  why  this  river  is  called  the 
Wye  ?  I  will  tell  you.  Wye  means  crooked,  so 
this  river  is  called  the  Wye  because  it  is  crooked. 
Wye,  the  crooked  river." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  the  old  man's  being 
right  about  the  crookedness  of  the  stream.  If  you 
have  ever  noticed  an  ant  running  over  the  floor  you 
will  have  an  idea  how  the  Wye  runs  through  this 
beautiful  country.  If  it  comes  to  a  hill  it  doesn't 
just  pass  it  and  let  you  see  one  side  of  it,  but  it 
goes  as  far  around  it  as  it  can,  and  then  goes  back 
again,  and  goes  around  some  other  hill  or  great 
rocky  point,  or  a  clump  of  woods,  or  anything  else 
that  travellers  might  like  to  see.  At  one  place, 
called  Symond's  Yat,  it  makes  a  curve  so  great,  that 
if  we  was  to  get  out  of  our  boat  and  walk  across  the 
land,  we  would  have  to  walk  less  than  half  a  mile 
before  we  came  to  the  river  again ;  but  to  row 
around  the  curve  as  we  did,  we  had  to  go  five  miles. 

Every  now  and  then  we  came  to  rapids.  I  didn't 
count  them,  but  I  think  there  must  have  been 
about  one  to  every  mile,  where  the  river-bed  was 
full  of  rocks,  and  where  the  water  rushed  furiously 
around  and  over  them.  If  we  had  been  rowing 
ourselves  we  would  have  gone  on  shore  and  camped 
when  we  came  to  the  first  of  these  rapids,  for  we 
wouldn't  have  supposed  our  little  boat  could  go 
through  those  tumbling,  rushing  waters ;  but  old 


Pomona 's   Travels  143 

Samivel  knew  exactly  how  the  narrow  channel,  just 
deep  enough  sometimes  for  our  boat  to  float  with 
out  bumping  the  bottom,  runs  and  twists  itself 
among  the  hidden  rocks,  and  he'd  stand  up  in  the 
bow  and  push  the  boat  this  way  and  that  until  it 
slid  into  the  quiet  water  again,  and  he  sat  down  to 
his  oars.  After  we  had  been  through  four  or  five 
of  these  we  didn't  feel  any  more  afraid  than  if  we 
had  been  sitting  together  on  our  own  little  back 
porch. 

As  for  the  banks  of  this  river,  they  got  more  and 
more  beautiful  as  we  went  on.  There  was  high 
hills  with  some  castles,  woods  and  crags  and  grassy 
slopes,  and  now  and  then  a  lordly  mansion  or  two, 
and  great  massive,  rocky  walls,  bedecked  with  vines 
and  moss,  rising  high  up  above  our  heads  and  shut 
ting  us  out  from  the  world. 

Jone  and  I  was  filled  as  full  as  our  minds  could 
hold  with  the  romantic  loveliness  of  the  river 
and  its  banks,  and  old  Samivel  was  so  pleased  to 
see  how  we  liked  it — for  I  believe  he  looked  upon 
that  river  as  his  private  property — that  he  told  us 
about  everything  we  saw,  and  pointed  out  a  lot  of 
things  we  wouldn't  have  noticed  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  him,  as  if  he  had  been  a  man  explaining  a 
panorama,  and  pointing  out  with  a  stick  the  notable 
spots  as  the  canvas  unrolled. 

The  only  thing  in  his  show  which  didn't  satisfy 
him  was  two  very  fine  houses  which  had  both  of 


144  Pomona  s    Travels 

them  belonged  to  noble  personages  in  days  gone  by. 
but  which  had  been  sold,  one  to  a  man  who  had 
made  his  money  in  tea,  and  the  other  to  a  man  who 
had  made  money  in  cotton.  "  Think  of  that,"  said 
he  ;  "  cotton  and  tea,  and  living  in  such  mansions  as 
them  are,  once  owned  by  lords.  They  are  both 
good  men,  and  gives  a  great  deal  to  the  poor,  and 
does  all  they  can  for  the  country  ;  but  only  think  of 
it,  madam,  cotton  and  tea!  But  all  that  happened 
a  good  while  ago,  and  the  world  is  getting  too 
enlightened  now  for  such  estates  as  them  are  to 
come  to  cotton  and  tea." 

Sometimes  we  passed  houses  and  little  settle 
ments,  but,  for  the  most  part,  the  country  was  as 
wild  as  undiscovered  lands,  which,  being  that  to  me, 
I  felt  happier,  I  am  sure,  than  Columbus  did  when 
he  first  sighted  floating  weeds.  Jone  was  a  good 
deal  wound  up  too,  for  he  had  never  seen  anything 
so  beautiful  as  all  this.  We  had  our  luncheon  at  a 
little  inn,  where  the  bread  was  so  good  that  for 
a  time  I  forgot  the  scenery,  and  then  we  went  on, 
passing  through  the  Forest  of  Dean,  lonely  and 
solemn,  with  great  oak  and  beech  trees,  and  Robin 
Hood  and  his  merry  men  watching  us  from  behind 
the  bushes  for  all  we  knew.  Whenever  the  river 
twists  itself  around,  as  if  to  show  us  a  new  view,  old 
Samivel  would  say :  "  Now  isn't  that  the  prettiest 
thing  you've  seen  yet? "and  he  got  prouder  and 
prouder  of  his  river  every  mile  he  rowed. 


Pomona  s    Travels  1 45 

At  one  place  he  stopped  and  rested  on  his  oars. 
"  Now,  then,"  said  he,  twinkling  up  his  face  as  if  he 
was  really  David  Llewellyn  showing  us  a  fish  with 
its  eyes  bulged  out  with  sticks  to  make  it  look  fresh, 
"  as  we  are  out  on  a  kind  of  a  lark,  suppose  we  try 
a  bit  of  a  hecho,"  and  then  he  turned  to  a  rocky 
valley  on  his  left,  and  in  a  voice  like  the  man  at  the 
station  calling  out  the  trains  he  yelled,  "  Hello 
there,  sir!  What  are  you  doing  there,  sir?  Come 
out  of  that !  "  And  when  the  words  came  back  as  if 
they  had  been  balls  batted  against  a  wall,  he  turned 
and  looked  at  us  as  proud  and  grinny  as  if  the  rocks 
had  been  his  own  baby  saying  "  papa  "  and  "  mam 
ma  "  for  visitors. 

Not  long  after  this  we  came  to  a  place  where 
there  was  a  wide  field  on  one  side,  and  a  little  way 
off  we  could  see  the  top  of  a  house  among  the  trees. 
A  hedge  came  across  the  field  to  the  river,  and  near 
the  bank  was  a  big  gate,  and  on  this  gate  sat  two 
young  women,  and  down  on  the  ground  on  the  side 
of  the  hedge  nearest  to  us  was  another  young 
woman,  and  not  far  from  her  was  three  black 
hogs,  two  of  them  pointing  their  noses  at  her  and 
grunting,  and  the  other  was  grunting  around  a 
place  where  those  young  women  had  been  making 
sketches  and  drawings,  and  punching  his  nose 
into  the  easels  and  portfolios  on  the  ground.  The 
young  woman  on  the  grass  was  striking  at  the 
hogs  with  a  stick  and  trying  to  make  them  go 
10 


146  Pomona  s    Travels 

away,  which  they  wouldn't  do ;  and  just  as  we  came 
near  she  dropped  the  stick  and  ran,  and  climbed 
up  on  the  gate  beside  the  others,  after  which 
all  the  hogs  went  to  rooting  among  the  drawing 
things. 

As  soon  as  Samivel  saw  what  was  going  on  he 
stopped  his  boat,  and  shouted  to  the  hogs  a  great 
deal  louder  than  he  had  shouted  to  the  echo,  but 
they  didn't  mind  any  more  than  they  had  minded 
the  girl  with  the  stick.  "  Can't  we  stop  the  boat," 
I  said,  "and  get  out  and  drive  off  those  hogs? 
They  will  eat  up  all  the  papers  and  sketches." 

"Just  put  me  ashore,"  said  Jone,  "and  I'll  clear 
them  out  in  no  time;"  and  old  Samivel  rowed  the 
boat  close  up  to  the  bank. 

But  when  Jone  got  suddenly  up  on  his  feet  there 
was  such  a  twitch  across  his  face  that  I  said  to  him, 
"  Now  just  you  sit  down.  If  you  go  ashore  to 
drive  off  those  hogs  you'll  jump  about  so  that  you'll 
bring  on  such  a  rheumatism  you  can't  sleep." 

"  I'll  get  out  myself,"  said  Samivel,  "  if  I  can  find 
a  place  to  fasten  the  boat  to.  I  can't  run  her 
ashore  here,  and  the  current  is  strong." 

"  Don't  you  leave  the-  boat, "  said  I,  for  the 
thought  of  Jone  and  me  drifting  off  and  coming 
without  him  to  one  of  those  rapids  sent  a  shudder 
through  me ;  and  as  the  stern  of  the  boat  where  I 
sat  was  close  to  the  shore  I  jumped  with  Jone's 
stick  in  my  hand  before  either  of  them  could  hinder 


Pomona  s   Travels  147 

me.  I  was  so  afraid  that  Jone  would  do  it  that  I 
was  very  quick  about  it. 

The  minute  I  left  the  boat  Jone  got  ready  to 
come  after  me,  for  he  had  no  notion  of  letting  me 
be  on  shore  by  myself,  but  the  boat  had  drifted  off 
a  little,  and  old  Samivel  said  : 

"  That  is  a  pretty  steep  bank  to  get  up  with  the 
rheumatism  on  you.  I'll  take  you  a  little  farther 
down,  where  I  can  ground  the  boat,  and  you  can 
get  off  more  steadier." 

But  this  letter  is  getting  as  long  as  the  River 
Wye  itself,  and  I  must  stop  it. 


Letter  Number  Fifteen 

BELL  HOTEL,  GLOUCESTER 

As  soon  as  I  jumped  on  shore,  as  I  told  you  in 
my  last,  and  had  taken  a  good  grip  on  Jone's  heavy 
stick,  I  went  for  those  hogs,  for  I  wanted  to  drive 
them  off  before  Jone  came  ashore,  for  I  didn't  want 
him  to  think  he  must  come. 

I  have  driven  hogs  and  cows  out  of  lots  and  yards 
often  enough,  as  you  know  yourself,  madam,  so  I 
just  stepped  up  to  the  biggest  of  them  and  hit  him 
a  whack  across  the  head  as  he  was  rubbing  his  nose 
in  among  some  papers  with  bits  of  landscapes  on 
them,  as  was  enough  to  make  him  give  up  studying 
art  for  the  rest  of  his  life ;  but  would  you  believe 
it,  madam,  instead  of  running  away  he  just  made  a 
bolt  at  me,  and  gave  me  such  a  push  with  his  head 
and  shoulders  he  nearly  knocked  me  over?  I  never 
was  so  astonished,  for  they  looked  like  hogs  that 
you  might  think  could  be  chased  out  of  a  yard  by  a 
boy.  But  I  gave  the  fellow  another  crack  on  the 
back,  which  he  didn't  seem  to  notice,  but  just  turned 
again  to  give  me  another  push,  and  at  the  same 
minute  the  two  others  stopped  rooting  among  the 
paint-boxes  and  came  grunting  at  me. 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  was  frightened  by 


Pomona  s   Travels  1 49 

hogs.  I  struck  at  them  as  hard  as  I  could,  and 
before  I  knew  what  I  was  about  I  flung  down  the 
stick,  made  a  rush  for  that  gate,  and  was  on  top  of 
it  in  no  time,  in  company  with  the  three  other 
young  women  that  was  sitting  there  already. 

"  Really,"  said  the  one  next  to  me,  "  I  fancied 
you  was  going  to  be  gored  to  atoms  before  our 
eyes.  Whatever  made  you  go  to  those  nasty 
beasts?" 

I  looked  at  her  quite  severe,  getting  my  feet  well 
up  out  of  reach  of  the  hogs  if  they  should  come 
near  us. 

"  I  saw  you  was  in  trouble,  miss,  and  I  came  to 
help  you.  My  husband  wanted  to  come,  but  he 
has  the  rheumatism  and  I  wouldn't  let  him." 

The  other  two  young  women  looked  at  me  as 
well  as  they  could  around  the  one  that  was  near 
me,  and  the  one  that  was  farthest  off  said : 

"  If  the  creatures  could  have  been  driven  off  by  a 
woman,  we  could  have  done  it  ourselves.  I  don't 
know  why  you  should  think  you  could  do  it  any 
better  than  we  could." 

I  must  say,  madam,  that  at  that  minute  I  was  a 
little  humble-minded,  for  I  don't  mind  confessing 
to  you  that  the  idea  of  one  American  woman  plung 
ing  into  a  conflict  that  had  frightened  off  three 
English  women,  and  coming  out  victorious,  had  a 
good  deal  to  do  with  my  trying  to  drive  away  those 
hogs ;  and  now  that  I  had  come  out  of  the  little  end 


1 50  Pomona  s    Travels 

of  the  horn,  just  as  the  young  women  had,  I  felt 
pretty  small,  but  I  wasn't  going  to  let  them  see 
that. 

"I- think  that  English  hogs,"  said  I,  "must  be 
savager  than  American  ones.  Where  I  live  there  is 
not  any  kind  of  a  hog  that  would  not  run  away  if  I 
shook  a  stick  at  him."  The  young  woman  at  the 
other  end  of  the  gate  now  spoke  again. 

"  Everything  British  is  braver  than  anything 
American,"  said  she  ;  "  and  all  you  have  done  has 
been  to  vex  those  hogs,  and  they  are  chewing  up 
our  drawing  things  worse  than  they  did  before." 

Of-  course  I  fired  up  at  this,  and  said,  "  You  are 
very  much  mistaken  about  Americans."  But  before 
I  could  say  any  more  she  went  on  to  tell  me  that 
she  knew  all  about  Americans ;  she  had  been  in 
America,  and  such  a  place  she  could  never  have 
fancied. 

"  Over  there  you  let  everybody  trample  over  you 
as  much  as  they  please.  You  have  no  conveniences. 
One  cannot  even  get  a  cab.  Fancy !  Not  a  cab  to 
be  had  unless  one  pays  enough  for  a  drive  in  Hyde 
Park." 

I  must  say  that  the  hogs  charging  down  on  me 
didn't  astonish  me  any  more  than  to  find  myself  on 
top  of  a  gate  with  a  young  woman  charging  on  my 
country  in  this  fashion,  and  it  was  pretty  hard  on 
me  to  have  her  pitch  into  the  cab  question,  because 
Jone  and  me  had  had  quite  a  good  deal  to  say  about 


Pomona  s   Travels  151 

cabs  ourselves,  comparing  New  York  and  London, 
without  any  great  fluttering  of  the  stars  and  stripes ; 
but  I  wasn't  going  to  stand  any  such  talk  as  that, 
and  so  I  said  : 

"  I  know  very  well  that  our  cab  charges  are  high, 
and  it  is  not  likely  that  poor  people  coming  from 
other  countries  are  able  to  pay  them  ;  but  as  soon 
as  our  big  cities  get  filled  up  with  wretched,  half- 
starved  people,  with  the  children  crying  for  bread 
at  home,  and  the  father  glad  enough  that  he's  able 
to  get  people  to  pay  him  a  shilling  for  a  drive,  and 
that  he's  not  among  the  hundreds  and  thousands  of 
miserable  men  who  have  not  any  work  at  all,  and 
go  howling  to  Hyde  Park  to  hold  meetings  for  blood 
or  bread,  then  we  will  be  likely  to  have  cheap  cabs 
as  you  have," 

"  How  perfectly  awful !  "  said  the  young  woman 
nearest  me  ;  but  the  one  at  the  other  end  of  the  gate 
didn't  seem  to  mind  what  I  said,  but  shifted  off  on 
another  track. 

"  And  then  there's  your  horses'  tails,"  said  she ; 
"  anything  nastier  couldn't  be  fancied.  Hundreds 
of  them  everywhere  with  long  tails  down  to  their 
heels,  as  if  they  belong  to  heathens  who  had  never 
been  civilized." 

"  Heathens?  "  said  I.  "  If  you  call  the  Arabians 
heathens,  who  have  the  finest  horses  in  the  world, 
and  wouldn't  any  more  think  of  cutting  off  their 
tails  than  they  would  think  of  cutting  their  legs  off  ; 


152  Pomona s   Travels 

and  if  you  call  the  cruel  scoundrels  who  torture 
their  poor  horses  by  sawing  their  bones  apart  so  as 
to  get  a  little  stuck-up  bob  on  behind,  like  a  moth- 
eaten  paint-brush — if  you  call  them  Christians,  then 
I  suppose  you're  right.  There  is  a  law  in  some 
parts  of  our  country  against  the  wickedness  of 
chopping  off  the  tails  of  live  horses,  and  if  you  had 
such  a  law  here  you'd  be  a  good  deal  more  Christian- 
like  than  you  are,  to  say  nothing  of  getting  credit 
for  decent  taste." 

By  this  time  I  had  forgotten  all  about  what  Jone 
and  I  had  agreed  upon  as  to  arguing  over  the  differ 
ences  between  countries,  and  I  was  just  as  peppery 
as  a  wasp.  The  young  woman  at  the  other  end  of 
the  gate  was  rather  waspy  too,  for  she  seemed  to 
want  to  sting  me  wherever  she  could  find  a  spot 
uncovered  ;  and  now  she  dropped  off  her  horses' 
tails,  and  began  to  laugh  until  her  face  got  purple. 

"  You  Americans  are  so  awfully  odd,"  she  said. 
"  You  say  you  raise  your  corn  and  your  plants 
instead  of  growing  them.  It  nearly  makes  me  die 
laughing  when  I  hear  one  of  you  Americans  say 
raise  when  you  mean  grow." 

Now  Jone  and  me  had  some  talk  about  growing 
and  raising,  and  the  reasons  for  and  against  our  way 
of  using  the  words  ;  but  I  was  ready  to  throw  all  this 
to  the  winds,  and  was  just  about  to  tell  the  impu 
dent  young  woman  that  we  raised  our  plants  just 
the  same  as  we  raised  our  children,  leaving  them  to 


Pomona s   Travels  155 

do  their  own  growing,  when  the  young  woman  in 
the  middle  of  the  three,  who  up  to  this  time  hadn't 
said  a  word,  screamed  out : 

"  Oh,  dear!  Oh,  dear!  He's  pulled  out  my  draw- 
ing  of  Wilton  Bridge.  He'll  eat  it  up.  Oh,  dear! 
Oh,  dear!  Whatever  shall  I  do  ?  " 

Instead  of  speaking  I  turned  quick  and  looked  at 
the  hogs,  and  there,  sure  enough,  one  of  them  had 
rooted  open  a  portfolio  and  had  hold  of  the  corners 
of  a  colored  picture,  which,  from  where  I  sat,  I 
could  see  was  perfectly  beautiful.  The  sky  and  the 
trees  and  the  water  was  just  like  what  we  ourselves 
had  seen  a  little  while  ago,  and  in  about  half  a 
minute  that  hog  would  chew  it  up  and  swallow  it. 

The  young  woman  next  to  me  had  an  umbrella 
in  her  hand.  I  made  a  snatch  at  this  and  dropped 
off  that  gate  like  a  shot.  I  didn't  stop  to  think 
about  anything  except  that  beautiful  picture  was  on 
the  point  of  being  swallowed  up,  and  with  a  screech 
I  dashed  at  those  hogs  like  a  steam  engine.  When 
they  saw  me  coming  with  my  screech  and  the 
umbrella  they  didn't  stop  a  second,  but  with  three 
great  wiggles  and  three  scared  grunts  they  bolted  as 
fast  as  they  could  go.  I  picked  up  the  picture  of 
the  bridge,  together  with  the  portfolio,  and  took 
them  to  the  young  woman  who  owned  them.  As 
the  hogs  had  gone,  all  three  of  the  women  was 
now  getting  down  from  the  gate. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  she  said,  "  for  saving 


156  Pomona  s   Travels 

my  drawings.     It  was   awfully  good  of  you,  espe 
cially " 

"  Oh,  you  are  welcome/'  said  I,  cutting  her  off 
short  ;  and,  handing  the  other  young  woman  her 
umbrella,  I  passed  by  the  impudent  one  without  so 
much  as  looking  at  her,  and  on  the  other  side  of 
the  hedge  I  saw  Jone  coming  across  the  grass.  I 
jerked  open  the  gate,  not  caring  who  it  might  swing 
against,  and  walked  to  meet  Jone.  When  I  was 
near  enough  I  called  out  to  know  what  on  earth 
had  become  of  him  that  he  had  left  me  there  so 
long  by  myself,  forgetting  that  I  hadn't  wanted  him 
to  come  at  all ;  and  he  told  me  that  he  had  had  a 
hard  time  getting  on  shore,  because  they  found  the 
banks  very  low  and  muddy,  and  when  he  had  landed 
he  was  on  the  wrong  side  of  a  hedge,  and  had  to 
walk  a  good  way  around  it. 

"1  was  troubled,"  said  he,  "because  I  thought 
you  might  come  to  grief  with  the  hogs." 

"  Hogs  !  "  said  I,  so  sarcastic,  that  Jone  looked 
hard  at  me,  but  I  didn't  tell  him  anything  more  till 
we  was  in  the  boat,  and  then  I  just  said  right  out 
what  had  happened.  Jone  couldn't  help  laughing. 

"If  I  had  known,"  said  he,  "  that  you  was  on  top 
of  a  gate  discussing  horses'  tails  and  cabs  I  wouldn't 
have  felt  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  to  you." 

"  And  you  would  have  made  a  mistake  if  you 
hadn't,"  I  said,  "  for  hogs  are  nothing  to  such  a 
person  as  was  on  that  gate." 


Pomona  s   Travels  157 

Old  Samivel  was  rowing  slow  and  looking 
troubled,  and  I  believe  at  that  minute  he  forgot 
the  River  Wye  was  crooked. 

"  That  was  really  hard,  madam,"  he  said,  "  really 
hard  on  you  ;  but  it  was  a  woman,  and  you  have  to 
excuse  women.  Now  if  they  had  been  three  Eng 
lishmen  sitting  on  that  gate  they  would  never  have 
said  such  things  to  you,  knowing  that  you  was 
a  stranger  ia  these  parts  and  had  come  on  shore  to 
do  them  a  service.  And  now,  madam,  I'm  glad  to 
see  you  are  beginning  to  take  notice  of  the  land 
scapes  again.  Just  ahead  of  us  is  another  bend,  and 
when  we  get  around  that  you'll  see  the  prettiest 
picture  you've  seen  yet.  This  is  a  crooked  river, 
madam,  and  that's  how  it  got  its  name.  Wye 
means  crooked." 

After  a  while  we  came  to  a  little  church  near  the 
river  bank,  and  here  Samivel  stopped  rowing,  and 
putting  his  hands  on  his  knees  he  laughed  gayly. 

"  It  always  makes  me  laugh,"  he  said,  "  whenever 
I  pass  this  spot.  It  seems  to  me  like  such  an  awful 
good  joke.  Here's  that  church  on  this  side  of  the 
river,  and  away  over  there  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  is  the  rector  and  the  congregation." 

"  And  how  do  they  get  to  church  ?"  said  I. 

"  In  the  summer  time,"  said  he,  "  they  come  over 
with  a  ferry-boat  and  a  rope  ;  but  in  the  winter,  when 
the  water  is  frozen,  they  can't  get  over  at  all. 
Many's  the  time  I've  lain  in  bed  and  laughed  and 


158 


Pomona  s    Travels 


laughed  when  I  thought  of  this  church  on  one  side 
of  the  river,  and  the  whole  congregation  and  the 
rector  on  the  other  side,  and  not  able  to  get  over." 

Toward  the  end  of  the  day,  and  when  we  had 
rowed  nearly  twenty  miles,  we  saw  in  the  distance 
the  town  of  Monmouth,  where  we  was  going  to 
stop  for  the  night. 

Old  Samivel  asked  us  what  hotel  we  was  going  to 


"In  the  winter,  when  the  water  is  frozen,  they  can't  get  over" 

stop  at,  and  when  we  told  him  the  one  we  had 
picked  out  he  said  he  could  tell  us  a  better  one. 

"  If  I  was  you,"  he  said,  "  I'd  go  to  the  Eyengel." 
We  didn't  know  what  this  name  meant,  but  as  the 
old  man  said  he  would  take  us  there  we  agreed  to 
go. 

"  I  should  think  you  would  have  a  lonely  time 
rowing  back  by  yourself,"  I  said. 

"  Rowing   back?"    said   he.     "Why,  bless   your 


Pomona 's    Travels  159 

soul,  lady,  there  isn't  nobody  who  could  row  this 
boat  back  agen  that  current  and  up  them  rapids. 
We  take  the  boats  back  with  the  pony.  We  put 
the  boat  on  a  wagon  and  the  pony  pulls  it  back  to 
Ross ;  and  as  for  me,  I  generally  go  back  by  the 
train.  It  isn't  so  far  from  Monmouth  to  Ross  by 
the  road,  for  the  road  is  straight  and  the  river  winds 
and  bends." 

The  old  man  took  us  to  the  inn  which  he  recom 
mended,  and  we  found  it  was  the  Angel.  It  was  a 
nice,  old-fashioned,  queer  English  house.  As  far  as 
I  could  see,  they  was  all  women  that  managed  it, 
and  it  couldn't  have  been  managed  better ;  and  as 
far  as  I  could  see,  we  was  the  only  guests,  unless 
there  was  "  commercial  gents,"  who  took  them 
selves  away  without  our  seeing  them. 

We  was  sorry  to  have  old  Samivel  leave  us,  and 
we  bid  him  a  most  friendly  good-by,  and  promised 
if  we  ever  knew  of  anybody  who  wanted  to  go  down 
the  River  Wye  we  would  recommend  them  to  ask 
at  Ross  for  Samivel  Jones  to  row  them. 

We  found  the  landlady  of  the  Angel  just  as  good 
to  us  as  if  we  had  been  her  favorite  niece  and 
nephew.  She  hired  us  a  carriage  the  next  day,  and 
we  as  driven  out  to  Raglan  Castle,  through  miles 
and  miles  of  green  and  sloping  ruralness.  When 
we  got  there  and  rambled  through  those  grand  old 
ruins,  with  the  drawbridge  and  the  tower  and  the 
courtyard,  my  soul  went  straight  back  to  the  days 


160  Pomona  s   Travels 

of  knights  and  ladies,  and  prancing  steeds,  and 
horns  and  hawks,  and  pages  and  tournaments,  and 
wild  revels  and  vaulted  halls. 

The  young  man  who  had  charge  of  the  place 
seemed  glad  to  see  how  much  we  liked  it,  as  is  nat 
ural  enough,  for  everybody  likes  to  see  us  pleased 
with  the  particular  things  they  have  on  hand. 

"  You  haven't  anything  like  this  in  your  country," 
said  he.  But  to  this  I  said  nothing,  for  I  was  tired 
of  always  hearing  people  speak  of  my  national 
denomination  as  if  I  was  something  in  tin  cans, 
with  a  label  pasted  on  outside ;  but  Jone  said  it  was 
true  enough  that  we  didn't  have  anything  like  it, 
for  if  we  had  such  a  noble  edifice  we  would  have 
taken  care  of  it,  and  not  let  it  go  to  rack  and  ruin 
in  this  way. 

Jone  has  an  idea  that  it  don't  show  good  sense 
to  knock  a  bit  of  furniture  about  from  garret  to 
cellar  until  most  of  its  legs  are  broken,  and  its  back 
cracked,  and  its  varnish  all  peeled  off,  and  then  tie 
ribbons  around  it,  and  hang  it  up  in  the  parlor,  and 
kneel  down  to  it  as  a  relic  of  the  past.  He  says 
that  people  who  have  got  old  ruins  ought  to  be 
very  thankful  that  there  is  any  of  them  left,  but  it's 
no  use  in  them  trying  to  fill  up  the  missing  parts 
with  brag. 

We  took  the  train  and  went  to  Chepstow,  which 
is  near  the  mouth  of  the  Wye,  and  as  the  railroad 
ran  near  the  river  nearly  all  the  way  we  had  lots  of 


Pomona  s   Travels  1 6 1 

beautiful  views,  though,  of  course,  it  wasn't  any- 
thing  like  as  good  as  rowing  along  the  stream  in  a 
boat.  The  next  day  we  drove  to  the  celebrated 
Tintern  Abbey,  and  on  the  way  the  road  passed 
two  miles  and  a  half  of  high  stone  wall,  which  shut 
in  a  gentleman's  place.  What  he  wanted  to  keep 
in  or  keep  out  by  means  of  a  wall  like  that,  we 
couldn't  imagine;  but  the  place  made  me  think  of 
a  lunatic  asylum. 

The  road  soon  became  shady  and  beautiful,  run 
ning  through  woods  along  the  river  bank  and  under 
some  great  crags  called  the  Wyndcliffe,  and  then 
we  came  to  the  Abbey  and  got  out. 

Of  all  the  beautiful  high-pointed  archery  of  ancient 
times,  this  ruined  Abbey  takes  the  lead.  I  expect 
you've  seen  it,  madam,  or  read  about  it,  and  I  am 
not  going  to  describe  it ;  but  I  will  just  say  that 
Jone,  who  had  rather  objected  to  coming  out  to  see 
any  more  old  ruins,  which  he  never  did  fancy,  and 
only  came  because  he  wouldn't  have  me  come  by 
myself,  was  so  touched  up  in  his  soul  by  what  he 
saw  there,  and  by  wandering  through  this  solemn 
and  beautiful  romance  of  bygone  days,  he  said  he 
wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  fifty  dollars. 

We  came  back  to  Gloucester  to-day,  and  to 
morrow  we  are  off  for  Buxton.  As  we  are  so  near 
Stratford  and  Warwick  and  all  that,  Jone  said  we'd 
better  go  there  on  our  way,  but  I  wouldn't  agree  to 
it.  I  am  too  anxious  to  get  him  skipping  round 
ii 


1 62  Pomona's   Travels 

like  a  colt,  as  he  used  to,  to  stop  anywhere  now, 
and  when  we  come  back  I  can  look  at  Shakespeare's 
tomb  with  a  clearer  conscience. 


LONDON. 

After  all,  the  weather  isn't  the  only  changeable 
thing  in  this  world,  and  this  letter,  which  I  thought 
I  was  going  to  send  to  you  from  Gloucester,  is  now 
being  finished  in  London.  We  was  expecting  to 
start  for  Buxton,  but  some  money  that  Jone  had 
ordered  to  be  sent  from  London  two  or  three  days 
before  didn't  come,  and  he  thought  it  would  be 
wise  for  him  to  go  and  look  after  it.  So  yesterday, 
which  was  Saturday,  we  started  off  for  London,  and 
came  straight  to  the  Babylon  Hotel,  where  we  had 
been  before. 

Of  course  we  couldn't  do  anything  until  Monday, 
and  this  morning  when  we  got  up  we  didn't  feel  in 
very  good  spirits,  for  of  all  the  doleful  things  I 
know  of,  a  Sunday  in  London  is  the  dolefullest. 
The  whole  town  looks  as  if  it  was  the  back  door  of 
what  it  was  the  day  before,  and  if  you  want  to  get 
any  good  out  of  it,  you  feel  as  if  you  had  to  sneak 
in  by  an  alley,  instead  of  walking  boldly  up  the 
front  steps. 

Jone  said  we'd  better  go  to  Westminster  Abbey 
to  church,  because  he  believed  in  getting  the  best 
there  was  when  it  didn't  cost  too  much,  but  I 
wouldn't  do  it. 


Pomona  s   Travels 


163 


<;  No,"  said  I.     "  When   I  walk  in  that   religious 
nave  and  into  the  hallowed  precincts  of  the  talented 


"Who  do  you  suppose  we  met?     Mr.  Poplington  !" 

departed,    the    stone    passages   are    full    of    cloudy 
forms  of   Chaucers,  Addisons,   Miltons,  Dickenses, 


1 64  Pomona  s   Travels 

and  all  those  great  ones  of  the  past ;  and  I  would 
hate  to  see  the  place  filled  up  with  a  crowd  of 
weekday  lay  people  in  their  Sunday  clothes,  which 
would  be  enough  to  wipe  away  every  feeling  of 
romantic  piety  which  might  rise  within  my  breast." 

As  we  didn't  go  to  the  Abbey,  and  was  so  long 
making  up  our  minds  where  we  should  go,  it  got 
too  late  to  go  anywhere,  and  so  we  stayed  in  the 
hotel  and  looked  out  into  a  lonely  and  deserted 
street,  with  the  wind  blowing  the  little  leaves  and 
straws  against  the  tight-shut  doors  of  the  forsaken 
houses.  As  I  stood  by  that  window  I  got  homesick, 
and  at  last  I  could  stand  it  no  longer,  and  I  said  to 
Jone,  who  was  smoking  and  reading  a  paper: 

"  Let's  put  on  our  hats  and  go  out  for  a  walk,  for 
I  can't  mope  here  another  minute." 

So  down  we  went,  and  coming  up  the  front  steps 
of  the  front  entrance  who  do  you  suppose  we  met  ? 
Mr.  Poplington !  He  was  stopping  at  that  hotel, 
and  was  just  coming  home  from  church,  with  his 
face  shining  like  a  sunset  on  account  of  the  com 
fortableness  of  his  conscience  after  doing  his  duty. 


Letter  Number  Sixteen 

BUXTON 

WHEN  I  mentioned  Mr.  Poplington  in  my  last 
letter  in  connection  with  the  setting  sun  I  was 
wrong  ;  he  was  like  the  rising  orb  of  day,  and  he 
rilled  London  with  effulgent  light.  No  sooner  had 
we  had  a  talk,  and  we  had  told  him  all  that  had 
happened,  and  finished  up  by  saying  what  a  doleful 
morning  we  had  had,  than  he  clapped  his  hand  on 
his  knees  and  said,  "  I'll  tell  you  what  we  will  do. 
We  will  spend  the  afternoon  among  the  landmarks." 
And  what  we  did  was  to  take  a  four-wheeler  and  go 
around  the  old  parts  of  London,  where  Mr.  Popling 
ton  showed  us  a  lot  of  soul-awakening  spots  which 
no  common  stranger  would  be  likely  to  find  for 
himself. 

If  you  are  ever  steeped  in  the  solemnness  of  a 
London  Sunday,  and  you  can  get  a  jolly,  red-faced, 
middle-aged  English  gentleman,  who  has  made  him 
self  happy  by  going  to  church  in  the  morning, 
and  is  ready  to  make  anybody  else  happy  in  the 
afternoon,  just  stir  him  up  in  the  mixture,  and 
then  you  will  know  the  difference  between  cod-liver 
oil  and  champagne,  even  if  you  have  never  tasted 
either  of  them.  The  afternoon  was  piled-up-and- 


1 66  Pomona  s    Travels 

pressed-down  joyfulness  for  me,  and  I  seemed  to 
be  walking  in  a  dream  among  the  beings  and  the 
things  that  we  only  see  in  books. 

Mr.  Poplington  first  took  us  to  the  old  Watergate, 
which  was  the  river  entrance  to  York  House,  where 
Lord  Bacon  lived,  and  close  to  the  gate  was  the 
small  house  where  Peter  the  Great  and  David  Cop- 
perfield  lived,  though  not  at  the  same  time  ;  and 
then  we  went  to  Will's  old  coffee-house,  where 
Addison,  Steele,  and  a  lot  of  other  people  of  that 
sort  used  to  go  to  drink  and  smoke  before  they  was 
buried  in  Westminster  Abbey,  and  where  Charles 
and  Mary  Lamb  lived  afterward,  and  where  Mary 
used  to  look  out  of  the  window  to  see  the  constables 
take  the  thieves  to  the  Old  Bailey  near  by.  Then 
we  went  to  Tom-all-alone's,  and  saw  the  very  grat 
ing  at  the  head  of  the  steps  which  led  to  the  old 
graveyard  where  poor  Joe  used  to  sweep  the  steps 
when  Lady  Dedlock  came  there,  and  I  held  on  to 
the  very  bars  that  the  poor  lady  must  have  gripped 
when  she  knelt  on  the  steps  to  die. 

Not  far  away  was  the  Black  Jack  Tavern,  where 
Jack  Sheppard  and  all  the  great  thieves  of  the  day 
used  to  meet.  And  bless  me  !  I  have  read  so 
much  about  Jack  Sheppard  that  I  could  fairly 
see  him  jumping  out  of  the  window  he  always 
dropped  from  when  the  police  came.  After  that 
we  saw  the  house  where  Mr.  Tulkinghorn,  Lady 
Dedlock's  lawyer,  used  to  live,  and  also  the  house 


Pomona  s    Travels  167 

where  old  Krook  was  burned  up  by  spontaneous 
combustion.  Then  we  went  to  Bolt  Court,  where 
old  Samuel  Johnson  lived,  walked  about,  and  talked, 
and  then  to  another  court  where  he  lived  when 
he  wrote  the  dictionary,  and  after  that  to  the 
"  Cheshire  Cheese  "  Inn,  where  he  and  Oliver 
Goldsmith  often  used  to  take  their  meals  to 
gether. 

Then  we  saw  St.  John's  Gate,  where  the  Knights 
Templars  met,  and  the  yard  of  the  Court  of  Chan 
cery,  where  little  Miss  Flite  used  to  wait  for  the 
Day  of  Judgment ;  and  as  we  was  coming  home  he 
showed  us  the  church  of  St.  Martin's-in-the-Fields, 
where  every  other  Friday  the  bells  are  rung  at  five 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  most  people  not  knowing 
what  it  is  for,  but  really  because  the  famous  Nell 
Gwynn,  who  was  far  from  being  a  churchwoman, 
left  a  sum  of  money  for  having  a  merry  peal  of 
bells  rung  every  Friday  until  the  end  of  the  world. 
I  got  so  wound  up  by  all  this,  that  I  quite  forgot 
Jone,  and  hardly  thought  of  Mr.  Poplington,  except 
that  he  was  telling  me  all  these  things,  and  bring 
ing  back  to  my  mind  so  much  that  I  had  read  about, 
though  sometimes  very  little. 

When  we  got  back  to  the  hotel  and  had  gone  up 
to  our  room,  Jone  said  to  me  : 

"  That  was  all  very  fine  and  interesting  from  top 
to  toe,  but  it  does  seem  to  me  as  if  things  were 
dreadfully  mixed.  Dr.  Johnson  and  Jack  Sheppard, 


1 68  Pomona  s   Travels 

I  suppose,  was  all  real  and  could  live  in  houses ;  but 
when  it  comes  to  David  Copperfields  and  Lady 
Dedlocks  and  little  Miss  Flites,  that  wasn't  real  and 
never  lived  at  all,  they  was  all  talked  about  in  just 
the  same  way,  and  their  favorite  tramping  grounds 
pointed  out,  and  I  can't  separate  the  real  people 
from  the  fancy  folk,  if  we've  got  to  have  the  same 
bosom  heaving  for  the  whole  of  them." 

"  Jone,"  said  I,  "  they  are  all  real,  every  one  of 
them.  If  Mr.  Dickens  had  written  history  I  expect 
he'd  put  Lady  Dedlock  and  Miss  Flite  and  David 
Copperfield  into  it  ;  and  if  the  history  writers  had 
written  stories  they  would  have  been  sure  to  get 
Dr.  Johnson  and  Lord  Bacon  and  Peter  the  Great 
into  them  ;  and  the  people  in  the  one  kind  of 
writing  would  have  been  just  as  real  as  the  people 
in  the  other.  At  any  rate,  that's  the  way  they  are 
to  me." 

On  the  Monday  after  our  landmark  expedition 
with  Mr.  Poplington,  which  I  shall  never  forget, 
Jone  settled  up  his  business  matters,  and  the  next 
day  we  started  for  Buxton  and  the  rheumatism 
baths.  To  our  great  delight  Mr.  Poplington  said 
he  would  go  with  us,  not  all  the  way,  for  he  wanted 
to  stop  at  a  little  place  called  Rowsley,  where  he 
would  stay  for  a  few  days  and  then  go  on  to  Bux 
ton  ;  but  we  was  very  glad  to  have  him  with  us 
during  the  greater  part  of  the  way,  and  we  all  left 
the  hotel  in  the  same  four-wheeler. 


Pomona  s   Travels  1 69 

When  we  got  to  the  station  Jone  got  first-class 
tickets,  for  we  have  found  out  that  if  you  want  to 
travel  comfortable  in  England,  and  have  porters 
attend  to  your  baggage  and  find  an  empty  carriage 
for  you,  and  have  the  guard  come  along  and  smile 
in  the  window  and  say  he'll  try  to  let  you  have  that 
carnage  all  to  yourselves  if  he's  able — the  ableness 
depending  a  good  deal  on  what  you  give  him — and 
for  everybody  to  do  their  best  to  make  your 
journey  pleasant,  you  must  travel  first  class.  Mr. 
Poplington  also  bought  a  first-class  ticket,  for  there 
was  no  seconds  on  this  line.  As  we  was  walking 
along  by  the  platform  Jone  and  I  gave  a  sort  of  a 
jump,  for  there  was  a  regular  Pullman  car,  which 
made  us  think  we  might  be  at  home.  We  stopped 
and  looked  at  it,  and  then  the  guard,  who  was 
standing  by,  stepped  up  to  us  and  touched  his  hat, 
and  asked  us  if  we  would  like  to  take  the  Pullman, 
and  when  Jone  asked  what  the  extra  charge  was,  he 
said  nothing  at  all  for  first-class  passengers.  We 
didn't  have  to  stop  to  think  a  minute,  but  said 
right  off  that  we  would  go  in  it,  but  Mr.  Poplington 
would  not  come  with  us.  He  said  English  people 
wasn't  accustomed  to  that,  they  wanted  to  be  more 
private ;  and,  although  he'd  like  to  be  with  us,  he 
could  not  travel  in  a  caravan  like  that,  and  so 
he  went  off  by  himself,  and  we  got  into  the  Pull 
man. 

The  guard  said  we  could  take  any  seats  we  pleased; 


1 70  Pomona  s   Travels 

and  when  we  got  in  we  found  there  was-  only  two 
or  three  people  in  it,  and  we  chose  two  nice  arm 
chairs,  hung  up  our  wraps,  and  made  ourselves 
comfortable  and  cosey. 

We  expected  that  the  people  who  engaged  seats 
would  soon  come  crowding  in,  but  when  the  train 
started  there  was  only  four  people  besides  ourselves 
in  that  beautiful  car,  which  was  a  first-class  one, 
built  in  the  United  States,  with  all  sorts  of  comforts 
and  conveniences.  There  was  a  porter  who  laid 
himself  out  to  make  us  happy,  and  about  one 
o'clock  we  had  a  nice  lunch  on  a  little  table  which 
was  set  up  between  us,  with  two  waiters  to  attend 
to  us,  and  then  Jone  went  and  had  a  smoke  in  a 
small  room  at  one  end  of  the  car. 

We  thought  it  was  strange  that  there  should  be 
so  few  people  travelling  on  this  train,  but  when  we 
came  to  a  town  where  we  made  a  long  stop  Jone 
got  out  to  talk  to  Mr.  Poplington,  supposing  it 
likely  that  he'd  have  a  carriage  to  himself ;  but  he 
was  amazed  to  see  that  the  train  was  jammed  and 
crowded,  and  he  found  Mr.  Poplington  squeezed  up 
in  a  carriage  with  seven  other  people,  four  of  them 
one  side  and  four  the  other,  each  row  staring  into 
the  faces  of  the  other.  Some  of  them  was  eating 
bread  and  cheese  out  of  paper  parcels,  and  a  big 
fat  man  was  reading  a  newspaper,  which  he  spread 
out  so  as  to  partly  cover  the  two  people  sitting 
next  to  him,  and  all  of  them  seemed  anxious  to 


Pomona  s   Travels  171 

find  some  way  of  stretching  their  legs  so  as  not  to 
strike  against  the  legs  of  somebody  else. 

Mr.  Poplington  was  sitting  by  the  window,  and 
Jone  couldn't  help  laughing  when  he  said  : 

"  Is  this  what  you  call  being  private,  sir?  I  think 
you  would  find  a  caravan  more  pleasant.  Don't 
you  want  to  come  to  the  Pullman  with  us?  There 
are  plenty  of  seats  there,  nice  big  armchairs  that 
you  can  turn  around  and  sit  any  way  you  like,  and 
look  at  people  or  not  look  at  them,  just  as  you 
please,  and  there's  plenty  of  room  to  walk  about 
and  stretch  yourself  a  little  if  you  want  to.  There's 
a  smoking-room,  too,  that  you  can  go  to  and  leave 
whenever  you  like.  Come  and  try  it." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Mr.  Poplington, 
"  but  I  really  couldn't  do  that.  I  am  not  prejudiced 
at  all,  and  I  have  a  good  many  democratic  ideas, 
but  that  is  too  much  for  me.  An  Englishman's 
house  is  his  castle,  and  when  he's  travelling  his  rail 
way  carriage  is  his  house.  He  likes  privacy  and 
dislikes  publicity." 

"  This  is  a  funny  kind  of  privacy  you  have 
here,"  said  Jone.  "  And  how  about  your  big 
clubs  ?  Would  you  like  to  have  them  all  divided 
up  into  little  compartments  with  half  a  dozen 
men  in  each  one,  generally  strangers  to  each 
other?" 

"  Oh,  a  club  is  a  very  different  thing,"  said  Mr. 
Poplington. 


172  Pomona  s   Travels 

Jone  was  going  to  talk  more  about  the  comfort 
of  the  Pullman  cars,  but  they  began  to  shut  the 
carriage  doors,  and  he  had  to  come  back  to  me. 

We  like  English  railway  carriages  very  well  when 
we  can  have  one  to  ourselves,  but  if  even  one 
stranger  gets  in  and  has  to  sit  looking  at  us  for  all 
the  rest  of  the  trip  you  don't  feel  anything  like  as 
private  as  if  you  was  walking  along  a  sidewalk  in 
London. 

But  Jone  and  I  both  agreed  we  wouldn't  find  any 
fault  with  English  people  for  not  liking  Pullman 
cars,  so  long  as  they  put  them  on  their  trains  for 
Americans  who  do  like  them.  And  one  thing  is 
certain,  that  if  our  railroad  conductors  and  brakes 
men  and  porters  was  as  polite  and  kind  as  they  are 
in  England,  tips  or  no  tips,  we'd  be  a  great  deal 
better  off  than  we  are. 

Whenever  we  stopped  at  a  station  the  people 
would  come  and  look  through  the  windows  at  us, 
as  if  we  was  some  sort  of  a  travelling  show.  I  don't 
believe  most  of  them  had  ever  seen  a  comfortable 
room  on  wheels  before.  The  other  people  in  our 
car  was  all  men,  and  looked  as  if  they  hadn't  their 
families  with  them,  and  was  glad  to  get  a  little 
comfort  on  the  sly.  When  we  got  to  Rowsley  we 
saw  Mr.  Poplington  on  the  platform,  running  about, 
collecting  all  his  different  bits  of  luggage,  and 
counting  them  to  see  that  they  was  all  there,  and 
then,  as  we  had  a  window  open  and  was  looking 


Pomona's   Travels 


173 


out,  he  came  and  bid  us  good-by ;  and  when  I  asked 
him  to,  he  looked  into  our  car. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  Oh,  dear !  "  he  said.  "  What  a  public 
apartment !  I  could  not  travel  like  that,  you  know. 
Good-by  ;  I  will  see  you  at  Buxton  in  a  few  days." 

We  talked  a  good  deal  with  Mr.  Poplington  about 
the  hotels  of  Buxton,  and  we  had  agreed  to  go  to 


Mr.    Poplington   looking  for  the  luggage 

one  called  the  Old  Hall,  where  we  are  now.  There 
was  a  good  many  reasons  why  we  chose  this  house, 
one  being  that  it  was  not  as  expensive  as  some  of 
the  others,  though  very  nice  ;  and  another,  which 
had  a  good  deal  of  force  with  me,  was,  that  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots  came  here  for  her  rheumatism,  and 
the  room  she  used  to  have  is  still  kept,  with  some 
words  she  scratched  with  her  diamond  ring  on  the 


1 74  Pomona  s   Travels 

window-pane.  Sometimes  people  coming  to  this 
hotel  can  get  this  room,  and  I  was  mighty  sorry  we 
couldn't  do  it,  but  it  was  taken.  If  I  could  have 
actually  lived  and  slept  in  a  room  which  had 
belonged  to  the  beautiful  Mary  Queen  of  Scots, 
I  would  have  been  willing  to  have  just  as  much 
rheumatism  as  she  had  when  she  was  here. 

Of  course,  modern  rheumatisms  are  not  as  inter 
esting  as  the  rheumatisms  people  of  the  past  ages 
had  ;  but  from  what  I  have  seen  of  this  town,  I 
think  I  am  going  to  like  it  very  much. 


Letter  Number  Seventeen 


BUXTON 

:_  HEN  we  were  comfortably  settled 
>"  here,  Jone  went  to  see  a  doctor, 
who  is  a  nice,  kind  old  gentleman, 
'•-  who  looks  as  if  he  almost  might 
have  told  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  how  hot  she  ought 
to  have  the  water  in  her  baths.  He  charges  four 
times  as  much  as  the  others,  and  has  about  a 
quarter  as  many  patients,  which'  makes  it  all  the 
same  to  him,  and  a  good  deal  better  for  the 
rheumatic  ones  who  come  to  him,  for  they  have 
more  time  to  go  into  particulars.  And  if  anything 
does  good  to  a  person  who  has  something  the 
matter  with  him,  it's  being  able  to  go  into  particu 
lars  about  it.  It's  often  as  good  as  medicine,  and 
always  more  comforting. 

We  unpacked  our  trunks  and  settled  ourselves 
down  for  a  three  weeks'  stay  here,  for  no  matter  how 
much  rheumatism  you  have  or  how  little,  you've  got 
to  take  Buxton  and  its  baths  in  three  weeks'  doses. 


76 


Pomonas   Travels 


Besides  taking  the  baths  Jone  has  to  drink  the 
waters,  and  as  I  cannot  do  much  else  to  help  him, 
I  am  encouraging  him  by  drinking  them  too.  There 
are  two  places  where  you  can  get  the  lukewarm 
water  that  people  come  here  to  drink.  One  is  the 
public  well,  where  there  is  a  pump  free  to  every 
body,  and  the  other  is  in  the  pump-room  just  across 
the  street  from  the  well,  where  you  pay  a  penny  a 
glass  for  the  same  water,  which  three  doleful  old 

women  spend  all 
their  time  pumping 
for  visitors. 

People  are  or 
dered  to  drink  this 
water  very  care 
fully.  It  must  be 
done  at  regular 
times,  beginning 

Pomona  encourages  Jonas  with     a      little>      and 

taking     more     and 

more  each  day  until  you  get  to  a  full  tumbler,  and 
then  if  it  seems  to  be  too  strong  for  you,  you  must 
take  less.  So  far  as  I  can  find  out  there  is  nothing 
particular  about  it,  except  that  it  is  lukewarm 
water,  neither  hot  enough  nor  cold  enough  to  make 
it  a  pleasant  drink.  It  didn't  seem  to  agree  with 
Jone  at  first,  but  after  he  kept  at  it  three  or  four 
days  it  began  to  suit  him  better,  so  that  he  could 
take  nearly  a  tumbler  without  feeling  badly.  Two 


Pomona  s   Travels  177 

or  three  times  I  felt  it  might  be  better  for  my 
health  if  I  didn't  drink  it,  but  I  wanted  to  stand  by 
Jone  as  much  as  I  could,  and  so  I  kept  on. 

We  have  been  here  a  week  now,  and  this  morning 
I  found  out  that  all  the  water  we  drink  at  this  hotel 
is  brought  from  the  well  of  St.  Ann,  where  the 
public  pump  is,  and  everybody  drinks  just  as  much 
of  it  as  they  want  whenever  they  want  to,  and  they 
never  think  of  any  such  thing  as  feeling  badly  or 
better  than  if  it  was  common  water.  The  only  dif 
ference  is,  that  it  isn't  quite  as  lukewarm  when  we 
get  it  here  as  it  is  at  the  well.  When  I  was  told 
this  I  was  real  mad,  after  all  the  measuring  and 
fussing  we  had  had  when  taking  the  water  as  a 
medicine,  and  then  drinking  it  just  as  we  pleased 
at  the  table.  But  the  people  here  tell  me  that  it  is 
the  gas  in  it  which  makes  it  medicinal,  and  when 
that  floats  out  it  is  just  like  common  water.  That 
may  be  ;  but  if  there's  a  penny's  worth  of  gas  in 
every  tumbler  of  water  sold  in  the  pump-room, 
there  ought  to  be  some  sort  of  a  canopy  put  over 
the  town  to  catch  what  must  escape  in  the  pourings 
and  pumpings,  for  it's  too  valuable  to  be  allowed  to 
get  away.  If  it's  the  gas  that  does  it,  a  rheumatic 
man  anchored  in  a  balloon  over  Buxton,  and  having 
the  gas  coming  up  unmixed  to  him,  ought  to  be 
well  in  about  two  days. 

When  Jone  told  me  his  first  bath  was  to  be  heated 
up  to  ninety-four  degrees  I  said  to  him  that  he'd  be 

12 


178  Pomona  s   Travels 

boiled  alive,  but  he  wasn't ;  and  when  he  came  home 
he  said  he  liked  it.  Everything  is  very  systematic 
in  the  great  bathing-house.  The  man  who  tends  to 
Jone  hangs  up  his  watch  on  a  little  stand  on  the 
edge  of  the  bathtub,  and  he  stays  in  just  so  many 
minutes,  and  when  he's  ready  to  come  out  he  rings 
a  bell,  and  then  he's  wrapped  up  in  about  fourteen 
hot  towels,  and  sits  in  an  armchair  until  he's  dry. 
Jone  likes  all  this,  and  says  so  much  about  it 
that  it  makes  me  want  to  try  it  too  ;  though  as 
there  isn't  any  reason  for  it  I  haven't  tried  them 
yet. 

This  is  an  awfully  queer,  old-fashioned  town,  and 
must  have  been  a  good  deal  like  Bath  in  the  days 
of  Evelina.  There  is  a  long  line  of  high  buildings 
curved  like  a  half  moon,  which  is  called  the  Crescent, 
and  at  one  end  of  this  is  a  pump-room,  and  at  the 
other  are  the  natural  baths,  where  the  water  is  just 
as  warm  as  when  it  comes  out  of  the  ground,  which 
is  eighty-two  degrees.  This  is  said  to  chill  people ; 
but  from  what  I  remember  about  summer  time  I 
don't  see  how  eighty-two  degrees  can  be  cold. 

Opposite  the  Crescent  is  a  public  park  called  The 
Slopes,  and  farther  on  there  are  great  gardens  with 
pavilions,  and  a  band  of  music  every  day,  and  £ 
theatre,  and  a  little  river,  and  tennis  courts,  and  all 
sorts  of  things  for  people  who  haven't  anything  to 
do  with  their  time,  which  is  generally  the  case  with 
folks  at  rheumatic  watering-places.  Opposite  to  our 


Pomona 's    Travels  1 79 

hotel  is  a  bowling  court,  which  they  say  has  been 
there  for  hundreds  of  years,  and  is  just  as  hard  and 
smooth  as  a  boy's  slate.  The  men  who  play  bowls 
here  are  generally  those  who  have  got  over  the 
rheumatism  of  their  youth,  and  whose  joints  have 
not  been  very  much  stiffened  up  yet  by  old  age. 
The  people  who  are  yet  too  young  for  rheumatism, 
and  have  come  here  with  their  families,  play 
tennis. 

The  baths  take  such  a  little  time,  not  over  six  or 
seven  minutes  for  them  each  day,  and  every  third 
day  skipped,  that  there  is  a  good  deal  of  time  left  on 
the  hands  of  the  people  here  ;  and  those  who  can't 
play  tennis  or  bowl,  and  don't  want  to  spend  the 
whole  time  in  the  pavilion  listening  to  the  music,  go 
about  in  bath-chairs,  which,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  are 
just  as  important  as  the  baths.  I  don't  know 
whether  you  ever  saw  a  bath-chair,  madam,  but  it's 
a  comfortable  little  cab  on  three  wheels,  pulled  by  a 
man.  They  take  people  everywhere,  and  all  the 
streets  are  full  of  them. 

As  soon  as  I  saw  these  nice  little  traps  I  said  to 
Jone,  "  Now  this  is  the  very  thing  for  you.  It  hurts 
you  to  walk  far,  and  you  want  to  see  all  over  this 
town,  and  one  of  these  bath-chairs  will  take  you 
into  lots  of  places  where  you  couldn't  go  in  a 
carriage." 

"  Take  me  !  "  said  Jone.  "  I  should  say  not.  You 
don't  catch  me  being  hauled  about  in  one  of  those 


1 80  Pomona  s    Travels 

things  as  if  I  was  in  a  sort  of  wheelbarrow  ambu 
lance  being  taken  to  the  hospital,  with  you  walking 
along  by  my  side  like  a  trained  nurse.  No,  indeed  ! 
I  have  not  gone  so  far  as  that  yet." 

I  told  him  this  was  all  stuff  and  nonsense,  and  if. 
he  wanted  to  get  the  good  out  of  Buxton  he'd  bet 
ter  go  about  and  see  it,  and  he  couldn't  go  about 
if  he  didn't  take  a  bath-chair ;  but  all  he  said  to  that 
was,  that  he  could  see  it  without  going  about,  and  he 
was  satisfied.  But  that  didn't  count  anything  with 
me,  for  the  trouble  with  Jone  is,  that  he's  too  easy 
satisfied. 

It's  true  that  there  is  a  lot  to  be  seen  in  Buxton 
without  going  about.  The  Slopes  are  just  across 
the  street  from  the  hotel,  and  when  it  doesn't  hap 
pen  to  be  raining  we  can  go  and  sit  there  on  a  bench 
and  see  lively  times  enough.  People  are  being 
trundled  about  in  their  bath-chairs  in  every  direc 
tion  ;  there  is  always  a  crowd  at  St.  Ann's  well, 
where  the  pump  is ;  all  sorts  of  cabs  and  carts  are 
being  driven  up  and  down  just  as  fast  as  they  can 
go,  for  the  streets  are  as  smooth  as  floors,  and  in  the 
morning  and  evening  there  are  about  half  a  dozen 
coaches  with  four  horses,  and  drivers  and  horn- 
blowers  in  red  coats,  the  horses  prancing  and  whips 
cracking  as  they  start  out  for  country  trips  or  come 
back  again.  And  as  for  the  people  on  foot,  they 
just  swarm  like  bees,  and  rain  makes  no  difference, 
except  that  then  they  wear  mackintoshes,  and  when 


Pomona  s   Travels  1 8 1 

it's  fine  they  don't.  Some  of  these  people  step 
along  as  brisk  as  if  they  hadn't  anything  the  matter 
with  them,  but  a  good  many  of  them  help  out  their 
legs  with  canes  and  crutches.  I  begin  to  think  I 
can  tell  how  long  a  man  has  been  at  Buxton  by  the 
number  of  sticks  he  uses. 

One  day  we  was  sitting  on  a  bench  in  The  Slopes, 
enjoying  a  bit  of  sunshine  that  had  just  come  along, 
when  a  middle-aged  man,  with  a  very  high  collar 
and  a  silk  hat,  came  and  sat  down  by  Jone.  He 
spoke  civilly  to  us,  and  then  went  on  to  say  that  if 
ever  we  happened  to  take  a  house  near  Liverpool 
he'd  be  glad  to  supply  us  with  coals,  because  he  was 
a  coal  merchant.  Jone  told  him  that  if  he  ever  did 
take  a  house  near  Liverpool  he  certainly  would  give 
him  his  custom.  Then  the  man  gave  us  his  card. 
"  I  come  here  .every  year,"  he  said,  "  for  the  rheuma 
tism  in  my  shoulder,  and  if  I  meet  anybody  that 
lives  near  Liverpool,  or  is  likely  to,  I  try  to  get  his 
custom.  I  like  it  here.  There's  a  good  many  'otels 
in  this  town.  You  can  see  a  lot  of  them  from  here. 
There's  St.  Ann's,  that's  a  good  house,  but  they 
charge  you  a  pound  a  day ;  and  then  there's  the  Old 
Hall.  That's  good  enough,  too,  but  nobody  goes 
there  except  shopkeepers  and  clergymen.  Of 
course,  I  don't  mean  bishops  ;  they  go  to  St.  Ann's." 

I  wondered  which  the  man  would  think  Jone  was, 
if  he  knew  we  was  stopping  at  the  Old  Hall ;  but  I 
didn't  ask  him,  and  only  said  that  other  people 


1 82  Pomona  s    Travels 

besides  shopkeepers  and  clergymen  went  to  the 
Old  Hall,  for  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  used  to  stop  at 
that  house  when  she  came  to  take  the  waters,  and 
her  room  was  still  there,  just  as  it  used  to  be. 

"  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  !  "  said  he.  "  At  the  Old 
Hall?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "  that's  where  she  used  to  go  ;  that 
was  her  hotel." 

"  Queen  Mary,  Queen  of  the  Scots ! "  he  said 
again.  "  Well,  well,  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it. 
But  them  Scotch  people  always  was  close-fisted. 
Now  if  it  had  been  Queen  Elizabeth,  she  wouldn't 
have  minded  a  pound  a  day  ;  "  and  then,  after  asking 
Jone  to  excuse  him  for  forgetting  his  manners  and 
not  asking  where  his  rheumatism  was,  and  having 
got  his  answer,  he  went  away,  wondering,  I  expect, 
how  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  could  have  been  so  stingy. 

But  although  we  could  see  so  much  sitting  on 
benches,  I  didn't  give  up  Jone  and  the  bath-chairs, 
and  day  before  yesterday  I  got  the  better  of  him. 
"  Now,"  said  I,  "  it  is  stupid  for  you  to  be  sitting 
around  in  this  way  as  if  you  was  a  statue  of  a  public 
benefactor  carved  by  subscription  and  set  up  in  a 
park.  The  only  sensible  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to 
take  a  bath-chair  and  go  around  and  see  things. 
And  if  you  are  afraid  people  will  think  you  are 
being  taken  to  a  hospital,  you  can  put  down  the  top 
of  the  thing,  and  sit  up  straight  and  smoke  your 
pipe.  Patients  in  ambulances  never  smoke  pipes. 


Pomona  s   Travels  183 

And  if  you  don't  want  me  walking  by  your  side  like 
a  trained  nurse,  I'll  take  another  chair  and  be  pulled 
along  with  you." 

The  idea  of  a  pipe,  and  me  being  in  another  chair, 
rather  struck  his  fancy,  and  he  said  he  would  con 
sider  it ;  and  so  that  afternoon  we  went  to  the  hotel 
door  and  looked  at  the  long  line  of  bath-chairs 
standing  at  the  curbstone  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street,  with  the  men  waiting  for  jobs.  The  chairs 
was  all  pretty  much  alike  and  looked  very  com 
fortable,  but  the  men  was  as  different  as  if  they  had 
been  horses.  Some  looked  gay  and  spirited,  and 
others  tired  and  worn  out,  as  if  they  had  belonged 
to  sporting  men  and  had  been  driven  half  to  death. 
And  then  again  there  w^as  some  that  looked  fat  and 
lazy,  like  the  old  horses  on  a  farm,  that  the  women 
drive  to  town. 

Jone  picked  out  a  good  man,  who  looked  as  if  he 
was  well  broken  and  not  afraid  of  locomotives  and 
able  to  do  good  work  in  single  harness.  When  I 
got  Jone  in  the  bath-chair,  with  the  buggy-top 
down,  and  his  pipe  lighted,  and  his  hat  cocked  on 
one  side  a  little,  so  as  to  look  as  if  he  was  doing  the 
whole  thing  for  a  lark,  I  called  another  chair,  not 
caring  what  sort  of  one  it  was,  and  then  we  told  the 
men  to  pull  us  around  for  a  couple  of  hours,  leaving 
it  to  them  to  take  us  to  agreeable  spots,  which  they 
said  they  would  do. 

After  we  got  started  Jone  seemed  to  like  it  very 


1 84  Pomona  s   Travels 

well,  and  we  went  pretty  much  all  over  the  town, 
sometimes  stopping  to  look  in  at  the  shop  windows, 
for  the  sidewalks  are  so  narrow  that  it  is  no  trouble 
to  see  the  things  from  the  street.  Then  the  men 
took  us  a  little  way  out  of  the  town  to  a  place 
where  there  was  a  good  view  for  us,  and  a  bench 
where  they  could  go  and  sit  down  and  rest.  I 
expect  all  the  chair  men  that  work  by  the  hour 
manage  to  get  to  this  place  with  a  view  as  soon  as 
they  can. 

After  they  had  had  a  good  rest  we  started  off  to 
go  home  by  a  different  route.  Jone's  man  was  a 
good  strong  fellow  and  always  took  the  lead,  but 
my  puller  was  a  different  kind  of  a  steed,  and  some 
times  I  was  left  pretty  far  behind.  I  had  not  paid 
much  attention  to  the  man  at  first,  only  noticing 
that  he  was  mighty  slow;  but  going  back  a  good 
deal  of  the  way  was  uphill,  and  then  all  his  imper 
fections  came  out  plain,  and  I  couldn't  help  study 
ing  him.  If  he  had  been  a  horse  I  should  have 
said  he  was  spavined  and  foundered,  with  split  frogs 
and  tonsilitis  ;  but  as  he  was  a  man,  it  struck  me  that 
he  must  have  had  several  different  kinds  of  rheuma 
tism  and  been  sent  to  Buxton  to  have  them  cured, 
but  not  taking  the  baths  properly,  or  drinking  the 
water  at  times  when  he  ought  not  to  have  done  it, 
his  rheumatisms  had  all  run  together  and  had 
become  fixed  and  immovable.  How  such  a  creaky 
person  came  to  be  a  bath-chair  man  I  could  not 


Pomona  s   Travels  185 

think,  but  it  may  be  that  he  wanted  to  stay  in 
Buxton  for  the  sake  of  the  loose  gas  which  could  be 
had  for  nothing,  and  that  bath-chairing  was  all  he 
could  get  to  do. 

I  pitied  the  poor  old  fellow,  who,  if  he  had  been 
a  horse,  would  have  been  no  more  than  fourteen 
hands  high,  and  as  he  went  puffing  along,  tugging  and 
grunting  as  if  I  was  a  load  of  coal,  I  felt  as  if  I 
couldn't  stand  it  another  minute,  and  I  called  out  to 
him  to  stop.  It  did  seem  as  if  he  would  drop  before 
he  got  me  back  to  the  hotel,  and  I  bounced  out  in 
no  time,  and  then  I  walked  in  front  of  him  and 
turned  around  and  looked  at  him.  If  it  is  possible 
for  a  human  hack-horse  to  have  spavins  in  two 
joints  in  each  leg,  that  man  had  them  ;  and  he  looked 
as  if  he  couldn't  remember  what  it  was  to  have  a 
good  feed. 

He  seemed  glad  to  rest,  but  didn't  say  anything, 
standing  and  looking  straight  ahead  of  him  like  an 
old  horse  that  has  been  stopped  to  let  him  blow. 
He  did  look  so  dreadful  feeble  that  I  thought  it 
would  be  a  mercy  to  take  him  to  some  member 
of  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty 
to  Animals  and  have  him  chloroformed.  "  Look 
here,"  said  I,  "  you  are  not  fit  to  walk.  Get  into 
that  bath-chair,  and  I'll  pull  you  back  to  your 
stand." 

"  Lady,"  said  he,  "  I  couldn't  do  that.  If  you 
dunno  mind  walking  home,  and  will  pay  me  for  the 


1 86  Pomona  s   Travels 

two  hours  all  the  same,  I  will  be  right  thankful  for 
that.  I'm  poorly  to-day." 

"  Get  into  the  chair,"  said  I,  "  and  I'll  pull  you 
back.  I'd  like  to  do  it,  for  I  want  some  exercise." 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  "  said  he.  "  That  would  be  a  sin  ;  and 
besides  I  was  engaged  to  pull  you  two  hours,  and  I 
must  be  paid  for  that." 

"  Get  into  that  chair,"  I  said,  "  and  I'll  pay  you  for 
your  two  hours  and  give  you  a  shilling  besides." 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  minute,  and  then  he  got 
into  the  chair,  and  I  shut  him  up. 

"  Now,  lady,"  said  he,  "  you  can  pull  me  a  little 
way  if  you  want  exercise,  and  as  soon  as  you  are 
tired  you  can  stop,  and  I'll  get  out,  but  you  must 
pay  me  the  extra  shilling  all  the  same." 

"  All  right,"  said  I,  and  taking  hold  of  the  handle 
I  started  off.  It  was  real  fun  ;  the  bath-chair  rolled 
along  beautifully,  and  I  don't  believe  the  old  man 
weighed  much  more  than  my  Corinne  when  I  used 
to  push  her  about  in  her  baby  carriage.  We  were  in 
a  back  street,  where  there  was  hardly  anybody ;  and 
as  for  Jone  and  his  bath-chair,  I  could  just  see  them 
ever  so  far  ahead,  so  I  started  to  catch  up,  and  as 
the  street  was  pretty  level  now  I  soon  got  going  at 
a  fine  rate.  I  hadn't  had  a  bit  of  good  exercise  for  a 
long  time,  and  this  warmed  me  up  and  made  me  feel 

gay- 

We  was  not  very  far  behind  Jone  when  the  man 
began  to  call  to  me  in  a  sort  of  frightened  fashion,  as 


'STOP,    LADY,    AND    1*LL    GET    OUT 


Pomona  s    Travels  1 89 

if  he  thought  I  was  running  away.  "  Stop,  lady  !  " 
he  said  ;  "  we  are  getting  near  the  gardens,  and  the 
people  will  laugh  at  me.  Stop,  lady,  and  I'll  get 
out."  But  I  didn't  feel  a  bit  like  stopping  ;  the  idea 
had  come  into  my  head  that  it  would  be  jolly  to 
beat  Jone.  If  I  could  pass  him  and  sail  on  ahead 
for  a  little  while,  then  I'd  stop  and  let  my  old  man 
get  out  and  take  his  bath-chair  home.  I  didn't  want 
it  any  more. 

Just  as  I  got  close  up  behind  Jone,  and  was  about 
to  make  a  rush  past  him,  his  man  turned  into  a  side 
street.  Of  course  I  turned  too,  and  then  I  put  on 
steam,  and,  giving  a  laugh  as  I  turned  around  to  look 
at  Jone,  I  charged  on,  intending  to  stop  in  a  minute 
and  have  some  fun  in  hearing  what  Jone  had  to  say 
about  it ;  but  you  may  believe,  ma'am,  that  I  was 
amazed  when  I  saw  only  a  little  way  in  front  of  me 
the  bath-chair  stand  where  we  had  hired  our 
machines  !  And  all  the  bath-chair  men  were  stand 
ing  there  with  their  mouths  wide  open,  staring  at  a 
woman  running  along  the  street,  pulling  an  old  bath- 
chair  man  in  a  bath-chair  !  For  a  second  I  felt  like 
dropping  the  handle  I  held  and  making  a  rush  for 
the  front  door  of  the  hotel,  which  was  right  ahead  of 
me ;  and  then  I  thought,  as  now  I  was  in  for  it,  it 
would  be  a  lot  better  to  put  a  good  face  on  the 
matter,  and  not  look  as  if  I  had  done  anything  I  was 
ashamed  of,  and  so  I  just  slackened  speed  and  came 
up  in  fine  style  at  the  door  of  the  Old  Hall.  Four 


1 90  Pomona  s    Travels 

or  five  of  the  bath-chair  men  came  running  across 
the  street  to  know  if  anything  had  happened  to  the 
old  party  I  was  pulling,  and  he  got  out  looking 
as  ashamed  as  if  he  had  been  whipped  by  his 
wife. 

"  It's  a  lark,  mates,"  said  he ;  "  the  lady's  to  pay 
me  two  shillings  extra  for  letting  her  pull  me." 

"  Two  shillings  ?  "  said  I.  "  I  only  promised  you 
one." 

"  That  would  be  for  pulling  me  a  little  way,"  he 
said  ;  "  but  you  pulled  me  all  the  way  back,  and  I 
couldn't  do  it  for  less  than  two  shillings." 

Jone  now  came  up  and  got  out  quick. 

"What's  the  meaning  of  all  this,  Pomona?" 
said  he. 

"Meaning?"  said  I.  "Look  at  that  dilapidated 
old  bag  of  bones.  He  wasn't  fit  to  pull  me,  and  so  I 
thought  it  would  be  fun  to  pull  him;  but,  of  course, 
I  didn't  know  when  I  turned  the  corner  I  would  be 
here  at  the  stand." 

Jone  paid  the  men,  including  the  two  extra 
shillings,  and  when  we  went  up  to  our  room  he  said, 
"  The  next  time  we  go  out  in  two  bath-chairs,  I  am 
going  to  have  a  chain  fastened  to  yours,  and  I'll  have 
hold  of  the  other  end  of  it." 


Letter  Number  Eighteen 

BUXTON 

I  HAVE  begun  to  take  the  baths.  There  really  is 
so  little  to  do  in  this  place  that  I  couldn't  help  it, 
and  so,  while  Jone  was  off  tending  to  his  hot  soaks, 
I  thought  I  might  as  well  try  the  thing  myself.  At 
any  rate  it  would  fill  up  the  time  when  I  was  alone. 
I  find  I  like  this  sort  of  bathing  very  much,  and  I 
wish  I  had  begun  it  before.  It  reminds  me  of  a 
kind  of  medicine  for  colds  that  you  used  to  make 
for  me,  madam,  when  I  first  came  to  the  canal-boat. 
It  had  lemons  and  sugar  in  it,  and  it  was  so  good  I 
remember  I  used  to  think  that  I  would  like  to  go 
into  a  lingering  consumption,  so  that  I  could  have 
it  three  times  a  day,  until  I  finally  passed  away  like 
a  lily  on  a  snowbank. 

Jone's  been  going  about  a  good  deal  in  a  bath- 
chair,  and  doesn't  mind  my  walking  alongside  of 
him.  He  says  it  makes  him  feel  easier  in  his  mind, 
on  the  whole. 

Mr.  Poplington  came  two  or  three  days  ago,  and 
he  is  stopping  at  our  hotel.  We  three  have  hired  a 
carriage  together  two  or  three  times  and  have  taken 
drives  into  the  country.  Once  we  went  to  an  inn, 
the  Cat  and  Fiddle,  about  five  miles  away,  on  a  high 


192  Pomona  s    Travels 

bit  of  ground  called  Axe  Edge.  It  is  said  to  be  the 
highest  tavern  in  England,  and  it's  lucky  that  it  is, 
for  that's  the  only  recommendation  it's  got.  The 
sign  in  front  of  the  house  has  on  it  a  cat  on  its 
hind-legs  playing  a  fiddle,  with  a  look  on  its  face  as 
if  it  was  saying,  "  It's  pretty  poor,  but  it's  the  best 
I  can  do  for  you." 

Inside  is  another  painting  of  a  cat  playing  a 
fiddle,  and  truly  that  one  might  be  saying,  "Ha! 
Ha !  You  thought  that  that  picture  on  the  sign  was 
the  worst  picture  you  ever  saw  in  your  life,  but 
now  you  see  how  you  are  mistaken." 

Up  on  that  high  place  you  get  the  rain  fresher 
than  you  do  in  Buxton,  because  it  hasn't  gone  so 
far  through  the  air,  and  it's  mixed  with  more  chilly 
winds  than  anywhere  else  in  England,  I  should  say. 
But  everybody  is  bound  to  go  to  the  Cat  and 
Fiddle  at  least  once,  and  we  are  glad  we  have  been 
there,  and  that  it  is  over.  I  like  the  places  near  the 
town  a  great  deal  better,  and  some  of  them  are  very 
pretty.  One  day  we  two  and  Mr.  Poplington  took 
a  ride  on  top  of  a  stage  to  see  Haddon  Hall  and 
Chatsworth. 

Haddon  Hall  is  to  me  like  a  dream  of  the  past 
come  true.  Lots  of  other  old  places  have  seemed 
like  dreams,  but  this  one  was  right  before  my  eyes, 
just  as  it  always  was.  Of  course,  you  must  have 
read  all  about  it,  madam,  and  I  am  not  going  to 
tell  it  over  again.  But  think  of  it ;  a  grand  old 


Pomona  s   Travels  193 

baronial  mansion,  part  of  it  built  as  far  back  as  the 
eleven  hundreds,  and  yet  in  good  condition  and  fit 
to  live  in.  That  is  what  I  thought  as  I  walked 
through  its  banqueting  hall  and  courts  and  noble 
chambers.  "  Why,"  said  I  to  Jone,  "  in  that  kitchen 
our  meals  could  be  cooked  ;  at  that  table  we  could 
eat  them  ;  in  these  rooms  we  could  sleep ;  in  these 
gardens  and  courts  we  could  roam  ;  we  could  actu 
ally  live  here ! "  We  haven't  seen  any  other 
romance  of  the  past  that  we  could  say  that  about, 
and  to  this  minute  it  puzzles  me  how  any  duke  in 
this  world  could  be  content  to  own  a  house  like 
this  and  not  live  in  it.  But  I  suppose  he  thinks 
more  of  water-pipes  and  electric  lights  than  he  does 
of  the  memories  of  the  past  and  time-hallowed 
traditions. 

As  for  me,  if  I  had  been  Dorothy  Vernon,  there's 
no  man  on  earth,  not  even  Jone,  that  could  make 
me  run  away  from  such  a  place  as  Haddon  Hall. 
They  show  the  stairs  down  which  she  tripped  with 
her  lover  when  they  eloped  ;  but  if  it  had  been  me, 
it  would  have  been  up  those  stairs  I  would  have 
gone.  Mr.  Poplington  didn't  agree  a  bit  with  me 
about  the  joy  of  living  in  this  enchanting  old  house, 
and  neither  did  Jone,  I  am  sure,  although  he  didn't 
say  so  much.  But  then,  they  are  both  men,  and 
when  it  comes  to  soaring  in  the  regions  of  romanti 
cism  you  must  not  expect  too  much  of  men. 

After  leaving  Haddon  Hall,  which  I  did  back- 
13 


1 94  Pomona  s   Travels 

ward,  the  coach  took  us  to  Chatsworth,  which  is  a 
different  sort  of  a  place  altogether.  It  is  a  grand 
palace,  at  least  it  was  built  for  one,  but  now  it  is  an 
enormous  show  place,  bright  and  clean  and  sleek, 
and  when  we  got  there  we  saw  hundreds  of  visitors 
waiting  to  go  in.  They  was  taken  through  in 
squads  of  about  fifty,  with  a  man  to  lead  them, 
which  he  did  very  much  as  if  they  was  a  drove  of 
cattle. 

The  man  who  led  our  squad  made  us  step  along 
lively,  and  I  must  say  that  never  having  been  in  a 
drove  before,  Jone  and  I  began  to  get  restive  long 
before  we  got  through.  As  for  the  show,  I  like  the 
British  Museum  a  great  deal  better.  There  is  ever 
so  much  more  to  see  there,  and  you  have  time  to 
stop  and  look  at  things.  At  Chatsworth  they 
charge  you  more,  give  you  less,  and  treat  you 
worse.  When  it  came  to  taking  us  through  the 
grounds,  Jone  and  I  struck.  We  left  the  gang  we 
was  with,  and  being  shown  where  to  find  a  gate  out 
of  the  place,  we  made  for  that  gate  and  waited 
until  our  coach  was  ready  to  take  us  back  to 
Buxton. 

It  is  a  lot  of  fun  going  to  the  theatre  here.  It 
doesn't  cost  much,  and  the  plays  are  good  and 
generally  funny,  and  a  rheumatic  audience  is  a  very 
jolly  one.  The  people  seemed  glad  to  forget  their 
backs,  their  shoulders,  and  their  legs,  and  they  are 
ready  to  laugh  at  things  that  are  only  half  comic, 


Pomona  s   Travels  195 

and  keep  up  a  lively  chattering  between  the  acts. 
It's  fun  to  see  them  when  the  play  is  over.  The 
bath-chairs  that  have  come  after  some  of  them  are 
brought  right  into  the  building,  and  are  drawn  up 
just  like  carriages  after  the  theatre.  The  first  time 
we  went  I  wanted  Jone  to  stop  a  while  and  see  if 
we  didn't  hear  somebody  call  out,  "  Mrs.  Barchester's 
bath-chair  stops  the  way !  "  but  he  said  I  expected 
too  much,  and  would  not  wait. 

We  sit  about  so  much  in  the  gardens,  which  are 
lively  when  it  is  clear,  and  not  bad  even  in  a  little 
drizzle,  that  we've  got  to  know  a  good  many  of  the 
people  ;  and  although  Jone's  a  good  deal  given  to 
reading,  I  like  to  sit  and  watch  them  and  see  what 
they  are  doing. 

When  we  first  came  here  I  noticed  a  good-look 
ing  young  woman  who  was  hauled  about  in  a  bath- 
chair,  generally  with  an  open  book  in  her  lap,  which 
she  never  seemed  to  read  much,  because  she  was 
always  gazing  around  as  if  she  was  looking  for  some 
thing.  Before  long  I  found  out  what  she  was  look 
ing  for,  for  every  day,  sooner  or  later,  generally 
sooner,  there  came  along  a  bath-chair  with  a  good- 
looking  young  man  in  it.  He  had  a  book  in  his  lap 
too,  but  he  was  never  reading  it  when  I  saw  him, 
because  he  was  looking  for  the  young  woman  ;  and 
as  soon  as  they  saw  each  other  they  began  to  smile, 
and  as  they  passed  they  always  said  something, 
but  didn't  stop.  I  wondered  why  they  didn't  give 


1 96  Pomona  s   Travels 

their  pullers  a  rest  and  have  a  good  talk  if  they 
knew  each  other,  but  before  long  I  noticed  not  very 
far  behind  the  young  lady's  bath-chair  was  always 
another  bath-chair  with  an  old  gentleman  in  it  with 
a  bottle-nose.  After  a  while  I  found  out  that  this 
was  the  young  lady's  father,  because  sometimes  he 
would  call  to  her  and  have  her  stop,  and  then  she 
generally  seemed  to  get  some  sort  of  a  scolding. 

Of  course,  when  I  see  anything  of  this  kind  going 
on,  I  can't  help  taking  one  side  or  the  other,  and  as 
you  may  well  believe,  madam,  I  wouldn't  be  likely 
to  take  that  of  the  old  bottle-nosed  man's  side.  I 
had  not  been  noticing  these  people  for  more  than 
two  or  three  days  when  one  morning,  when  Jone 
and  me  was  sitting  under  an  umbrella,  for  there  was 
a  little  more  rain  than  common,  I  saw  these  two 
young  people  in  their  bath-chairs,  coming  along 
side  by  side,  and  talking  just  as  hard  as  they  could. 
At  first  I  was  surprised,  but  I  soon  saw  how  things 
was  :  the  old  gentleman  couldn't  come  out  in  the 
rain.  •  It  was  plain  enough  from  the  way  these  two 
young  people  looked  at  each  other  that  they  was 
in  love,  and  although  it  most  likely  hurt  them  just 
as  much  to  come  out  into  the  rain  as  it  would  the 
old  man,  love  is  all-powerful,  even  over  rheumatism. 

Pretty  soon  the  clouds  cleared  away  without 
notice,  as  they  do  in  this  country,  and  it  wasn't  long 
before  I  saw,  away  off,  the  old  man's  bath-chair 
coming  along  lively.  His  bottle-nose  was  sticking 


Pomona  s    Travels  197 

up  in  the  air,  and  he  was  looking  from  one  side  to 
the  other  as  hard  as  he  could.  The  two  lovers  had 
turned  off  to  the  right  and  gone  over  a  little  bridge 
and  I  couldn't  see  them  ;  but  by  the  way  that  old 
nose  shook  as  it  got  nearer  and  nearer  to  me,  I  saw 
they  had  reason  to  tremble,  though  they  didn't 
know  it. 

When  the  old  father  reached  the  narrow  path  he 
did  not  turn  down  it,  but  kept  straight  on,  and  I 
breathed  a  sigh  of  deep  relief.  But  the  next  instant 
I  remembered  that  the  broad  path  turned  not  far 
beyond,  and  that  the  little  one  soon  ran  into  it,  and 
so  it  could  not  be  long  before  the  father  and  the 
lovers  would  meet.  I  like  to  tell  Jone  everything 
I  am  going  to  do,  when  I  am  sure  that  he'll  agree 
with  me  that  it  is  right ;  but  this  time  I  could  not 
bother  with  explanations,  and  so  I  just  told  him  to 
sit  still  for  a  minute,  for  I  wanted  to  see  something, 
and  I  walked  after  the  young  couple  as  fast  as  I 
could.  When  I  got  to  them,  for  they  hadn't  gone 
very  far,  I  passed  the  young  woman's  bath-chair, 
and  then  I  looked  around  and  I  said  to  herr  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  miss,  but  there  is  an  old  gentleman 
looking  for  you  ;  but  as  I  think  he  is  coming  round 
this  way,  you'll  meet  him  if  you  keep  on  this  path." 
"  Oh,  my  !  "  said  she  unintentionally  ;  and  then  she 
thanked  me  very  much,  and  I  went  on  and  turned  a 
corner  and  went  back  to  Jone,  and  pretty  soon  the 
young  man's  bath-chair  passed  us  going  toward  the 


198  Pomona  s   Travels 

gate,  he  looking  three-quarters  happy,  and  the  other 
quarter  disappointed,  as  lovers  are  if  they  don't  get 
the  whole  loaf. 

From  that  day  until  yesterday,  which  was  a  full 
week,  I  came  into  the  gardens  every  morning,  some 
times  even  when  Jone  didn't  want  to  come,  because 
I  wanted  to  see  as  much  of  this  love  business  as 
I  could.  For  my  own  use  in  thinking  of  them  I 
named  the  young  man  Pomeroy  and  the  young 
woman  Angelica,  and  as  for  the  father,  I  called  him 
Snortfrizzle,  being  the  worst  name  I  could  think  of 
at  the  time.  But  I  must  wait  until  my  next  letter 
to  tell  you  the  rest  of  the  story  of  the  lovers,  and  I 
am  sure  you  will  be  as  much  interested  in  them  as 
I  was. 


Letter  Number  Nineteen 


BUXTON 

HAVE  a  good  many  things  to  tell 
you,  for  we  leave  Buxton  to-mor 
row,  but  I  will  first  finish  the  story 
of  Angelica  and  Pomeroy.  I  think  the  men  who 
pulled  the  bath-chairs  of  the  lovers  knew  pretty 
much  how  things  was  going,  for  whenever  they  got 
a  chance  they  brought  their  chairs  together,  and  I 
often  noticed  them  looking  out  for  the  old  father, 
and  if  they  saw  him  coming  they  would  move  away 
from  each  other  if  they  happened  to  be  together. 

If  Snortfrizzle's  puller  had  been  one  of  the  regular 
bath-chair  men  they  might  have  made  an  agreement 
with  him  so  that  he  would  have  kept  away  from 
them  ;  but  he  was  a  man  in  livery,  \vith  a  high  hat, 
who  walked  very  regular,  like  a  high-stepping  horse, 


2OO  Pomona  s    Travels 

and  who,  it  was  plain  enough  to  see,  never  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  common  bath-chair  men.  Old 
Snortfrizzle  seemed  to  be  smelling  a  rat  more  and 
more — that  is,  if  it  is  proper  to  liken  Cupid  to  such 
an  animal— and  his  nose  seemed  to  get  purpler  and 
purpler.  I  think  he  would  always  have  kept  close 
to  Angelica's  chair  if  it  hadn't  been  that  he  had  a 
way  of  falling  asleep,  and  whenever  he  did  this  his 
man  always  walked  very  slow,  being  naturally  lazy. 
Two  or  three  times  I  have  seen  Snortfrizzle  wake 
up,  shout  to  his  man,  and  make  him  trot  around  a 
clump  of  trees  and  into  some  narrow  path  where  he 
thought  his  daughter  might  have  gone. 

Things  began  to  look  pretty  bad,  for  the  old  man 
had  very  strong  suspicions  about  Pomeroy,  and  was 
so  very  wide  awake  when  he  was  awake,  that  I  knew 
it  couldn't  be  long  before  he  caught  the  two 
together,  and  then  I  didn't  believe  that  Angelica 
would  ever  come  into  these  gardens  again. 

It  was  yesterday  morning  that  I  saw  old 
Snortfrizzle  with  his  chin  down  on  his  shirt  bosom, 
snoring  so  steady  that  his  hat  heaved,  being  very 
slowly  pulled  along  a  shady  walk,  and  then  I  saw  his 
daughter,  who  was  not  far  ahead  of  him,  turn  into 
another  walk,  which  led  down  by  the  river.  I  knew 
very  well  that  she  ought  not  to  turn  into  that  walk, 
because  it  didn't  in  any  way  lead  to  the  place  where 
Pomeroy  was  sitting  in  his  bath-chair  behind  a  great 
clump  of  bushes  and  flowers,  with  his  face  filled  with 


Pomona  s    Travels 


201 


the  most  lively  emotions,  but  overspread  ever  and 
anon  by  a  cloudlet  of  despair  on  account  of  the 
approach  of  the  noontide  hour,  when  Angelica  and 
Snortfrizzle  generally  went  home. 

The  time  was  short,  and  I  believed  that  love's 
young  dream  must  be  put  off  until  the  next  day  if 
Angelica  could  not  be  made  aware  where  Pomeroy 


"Your  brother  is  over  there" 

was  sitting,  or  Pomeroy  where  Angelica  was  going ; 
so  I  got  right  up  and  made  a  short  cut  down  a  steep 
little  path,  and,  sure  enough,  I  met  her  when  I  got 
to  the  bottom.  "  I  beg  your  pardon  very  much, 
miss,"  said  I,  "  but  your  brother  is  over  there  in 
the  entrance  to  the  cave,  and  I  think  he  has  been 
looking  for  you."  "My  brother?"  said  she,  turn 
ing  as  red  as  her  ribbons  was  blue.  "  Oh,  thank 


2O2  Pomona  s   Travels 

you  very  much !  Robertson,  you  may  take  me 
that  way." 

It  wasn't  long  before  I  saw  those  two  bath-chairs 
alongside  of  each  other,  and  covered  from  general 
observation  by  masses  of  blooming  shrubbery.  As 
I  had  been  the  cause  of  bringing  them  together  I 
thought  I  had  a  right  to  look  at  them  a  little  while, 
as  that  would  be  the  only  reward  I'd  be  likely  to  get, 
and  so  I  did  it.  It  was  as  I  thought ;  things  was 
coming  to  a  climax ;  the  bath-chair  men  standing 
with  much  consideration  with  their  backs  to  their 
vehicles,  and,  united  for  the  time  being  by  their 
clasped  hands,  the  lovers  grew  tender  to  a  degree 
which  I  would  have  fain  checked,  had  I  been  nearer, 
for  fear  of  notice  by  passers-by. 

But  now  my  blood  froze  within  my  veins.  I 
would  never  have  believed  that  a  man  in  a  high  hat 
and  livery  a  size  too  small  for  him  could  run,  but 
Snortfrizzle's  man  did,  and  at  a  pace  which  ought 
to  have  been  prohibited  by  law.  I  saw  him  coming 
from  an  unsuspected  quarter,  and  swoop  around 
that  clump  of  flowers  and  foliage.  Regardless  of 
consequences  I  approached  nearer.  There  was  loud 
voices;  there  was  exclamations;  there  was  a  rattling 
of  wheels  ;  there  was  the  sundering  of  tender  ties ! 

In  a  moment  Pomeroy,  who  had  backed  off  but 
a  little  way,  began  to  speak,  but  his  voice  was 
drowned  in  the  thunder  of  Snortfrizzle's  denun 
ciations.  Angelica  wept,  and  her  head  fell  upon  her 


Pomonas   Travels  203 

lovely  bosom,  and  I  am  sure  I  heard  her  implore 
her  man  to  remove  her  from  the  scene.  Pomeroy 
remained,  his  face  firm,  his  eyes  undaunted,  but 
Snortfrizzle  shook  his  fist  in  unison  with  his  nose, 
and,  hurling  an  anathema  at  him,  followed  his 
daughter,  probably  to  incarcerate  her  in  her  apart 
ments. 

All  was  over,  and  I  returned  to  Jone  with  a  heavy 
heart  and  faltering  step.  I  could  not  but  feel  that 
I  had  brought  about  the  sad  end  of  this  tender 
chapter  in  the  lives  of  Pomeroy  and  Angelica.  If 
I  had  let  them  alone  they  would  not  have  met  and 
they  would  not  have  been  discovered  together.  I 
didn't  tell  Jone  what  had  happened,  because  he 
does  not  always  sympathize  with  me  in  my  interest 
in  others,  and  for  hours  my  heart  was  heavy. 

It  was  about  a  half  an  hour  before  dinner  that 
day  when  I  thought  that  a  little  walk  might  raise 
my  spirits,  and  I  wandered  into  the  gardens,  for 
which  we  each  have  a  weekly  ticket,  and  there,  to 
my  amazement,  not  far  from  the  gate  I  saw  Angel 
ica  in  tears  and  her  bath-chair.  Her  man  was  not 
with  her,  and  she  was  alone.  When  she  saw  me  she 
looked  at  me  for  a  minute,  and  then  she  beckoned 
to  me  to  come  to  her.  I  flew.  There  were  but 
few  people  in  the  gardens,  and  we  was  alone. 

"  Madam,"  said  she,  "  I  think  you  must  be  very 
kind.  I  believe  you  knew  that  gentleman  was  not 
my  brother.  He  is  not." 


204  Pomona  s   Travels 

"  My  dear  miss,"  said  I — I  was  almost  on  the 
point  of  calling  her  Angelica — "  I  knew  that.  I 
know  that  he  is  something  nearer  and  dearer  than 
even  a  brother." 

She  blushed.  "  Yes,"  said  she,  "  you  are  right, 
and  we  are  in  great  trouble." 

"  Oh,  what  is  it  ?  Tell  me  quick.  What  can  I  do 
to  help  you  ?  " 

"  My  father  is  very  angry,"  said  she,  "  and  has 
forbidden  me  ever  to  see  him  again,  and  he  is  going 
to  take  me  home  to-morrow.  But  we  have  agreed 
to  fly  together  to-day.  It  is  our  only  chance,  but 
he  is  not  here.  Oh,  dear  !  I  do  not  know  what  I 
shall  do." 

u  Where  are  you  going  to  fly  to  ?  "  said  I. 

"  We  want  to  take  the  Edinburgh  train  this  even 
ing  if  there  is  one,"  she  said,  "  and  we  get  off  at 
Carlisle,  and  from  there  it  is  only  a  little  way  to 
Gretna  Green." 

"  Gretna  Green  ! "  I  cried.  "  Oh,  I  will  help 
you  !  I  will  help  you  !  Why  isn't  the  gentleman 
here,  and  where  has  he  gone  ?  " 

"  He  has  gone  to  see  about  the  trains,"  she  said, 
almost  crying,  "  and  I  don't  see  what  keeps  him.  I 
could  not  get  away  until  father  went  into  his  room 
to  dress  for  dinner,  and  as  soon  as  he  is  ready  he 
will  call  for  me.  Where  can  he  be  ?  I  have  sent 
my  man  to  look  for  him." 

"  Oh,    I'll   go  look   for   him  !     You   wait  here,"  I 


Pomona  s    Travels  205 

cried,  forgetting  that  she  would  have  to,  and  away 
I  went. 

As  I  was  hurrying  out  of  the  gates  of  the  gardens 
I  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  railroad  station,  and 
there  I  saw  Pomeroy  pulled  by  one  bath-chair  man 
and  the  other  one  talking  to  him.  In  twenty  bounds 
I  reached  him.  "  Go  back  for  your  young  lady,"  I 
cried  to  Robertson,  Angelica's  man,  "  and  bring 
her  here  on  the  run.  She  sent  me  for  you."  Away 
went  Robertson,  and  then  I  said  to  the  astonished 
Pomeroy,  "  Sir,  there  is  no  time  for  explanations. 
Your  lady-love  will  be  with  you  in  a  minute.  My 
husband  and  I  are  going  to  Edinburgh  to-morrow, 
and  I  have  looked  up  all  the  trains.  There  is  one 
which  leaves  here  at  twenty  minutes  past  six.  If 
she  comes  soon  you  will  have  tftrte  to  catch  it. 
Have  you  your  baggage  ready  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  wondered  who  on  earth 
I  was,  but  I  am  sure  he  saw  my  soul  in  my  face  and 
trusted  me. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  she  has  a  little  bag  in  her  bath- 
chair,  and  mine  is  here." 

"  Here  she  comes,"  said  I,  "  and  you  must  fly  to 
the  station." 

In  a  moment  Angelica  was  with  us,  her  face 
beaming  with  delight. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you ! "  she  cried,  but 
I  would  not  listen  to  her  gratitude.  "  Hurry  !  "  I 
said,  "  or  you  will  be  too  late.  Joy  go  with  you." 


206  Pomona  s   Travels 

They  hastened  off,  and  I  walked  back  to  the 
gardens.  I  looked  at  my  watch,  and  to  my  horror 
I  saw  it  was  five  minutes  past  six.  Fifteen  minutes 
left  yet.  Fifteen  minutes  in  which  they  might  be 
overtaken.  I  stopped  for  a  moment  irresolutely. 
What  should  I  do?  I  thought  of  running  after 
them  to  the  station.  I  thought  in  some  way  I  might 
help  them — buy  their  tickets  or  do  something.  But 
while  I  was  thinking  I  heard  a  rattle,  and  down  the 
street  came  the  man  in  livery,  and  Snortfrizzle's 
bottle-nose  like  a  volcano  behind  him.  The  minute 
they  reached  me,  and  there  was  nobody  else  in  the 
street,  the  old  man  shouted,  "  Hi !  Have  you  seen 
two  bath-chairs  with  a  young  man  and  a  young 
woman  in  them  ?  " 

I  was  on  the  point  of  saying  No,  but  changed  my 
mind  like  a  flash.  "  Did  the  young  lady  wear  a  hat 
with  blue  ribbons?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes  !  "  he  roared.     "  Which  way  did  they  go  ?  " 

"  And  did  the  young  man  with  her  wear  eye 
glasses  and  a  brown  moustache  ?  " 

"With  her,  was  he?"  screamed  Snortfrizzle. 
"That's  the  rascal.  Which  way  did  they  go?  Tell 
me  instantly." 

When  I  was  a  very  little  girl  I  knew  an  old  woman 
who  told  me  that  if  a  person  was  really  good  at 
heart,  the  holy  angels  would  allow  that  person,  in 
the  course  of  her  life,  twelve  fibs  without  charge, 
provided  they  was  told  for  the  good  of  somebody 


Pomona  s   Travels  209 

and  not  to  do  harm.  Now  at  such  a  moment  as  this 
I  could  not  remember  how  many  fibs  of  that  kind  I 
had  left  over  to  my  credit,  but  I  knew  there  must 
be  at  least  one,  and  so  I  didn't  hesitate  a  second. 
"  They  have  gone  to  the  Cat  and  Fiddle,"  said  I. 
"  I  heard  them  tell  their  bath-chair  men  so,  as  they 
urged  them  forward  at  the  top  of  their  speed. 
They  stopped  for  a  second  here,  sir,  aryd  I  heard 
the  gentleman  send  a  cabman  for  a  clergyman,  post 
haste,  to  meet  them  at  the  Cat  and  Fiddle." 

If  the  sky  had  been  lighted  up  by  the  eruption 
of  Snortfrizzle's  nose  I  should  not  have  been  sur 
prised. 

"  The  fools  !  They  can't  !  Cat  and  Fiddle  !  But 
they  can't  be  half  way  there.  Martin,  to  the  Cat 
and  Fiddle ! " 

The  man  touched  his  hat.  "  But  I  couldn't  do 
that,  sir.  I  couldn't  run  to  the  Cat  and  Fiddle. 
It's  long  miles,  sir.  Shall  I  get  a  carriage  ?  " 

"  Carriage  ! "  cried  the  old  man,  and  then  he 
began  to  look  about  him. 

Horror  struck  me.  Perhaps  they  would  go  to 
the  station  for  one !  Just  then  a  boy  driving  a 
pony  and  a  grocery  cart  came  up. 

"There  you  are,  sir,"  I  cried.  "  Hire  that  boy  to 
tow  you.  Your  butler  can  sit  in  the  back  of  the 
cart  and  hold  the  handle  of  your  bath-chair.  It 
may  take  long  to  get  a  carriage,  and  the  cart  will  go 
much  faster.  You  may  overtake  them  in  a  mile." 
14 


2io  Pomona  s   Travels 

Old  Snortfrizzle  never  so  much  as  thanked  me  or 
looked  at  me.  He  yelled  to  the  boy  in  the  cart, 
offered  him  ten  shillings  and  sixpence  to  give  him 
a  tow,  and  in  less  time  than  I  could  take  to  write 
it,  that  flunky  with  a  high  hat  was  sitting  in  the 
tail  of  the  cart,  the  pony  was  going  at  full  gallop, 
and  the  old  man's  bath-chair  was  spinning  on 
behind  it  at  a  great  rate. 

I  did  not  leave  that  spot — standing  statue-like 
and  looking  along  both  roads — until  I  heard  the 
rumble  of  the  departing  train,  and  then  I  repaired 
to  the  Old  Hall,  my  soul  uplifted.  I  found  Jone  in 
an  awful  fluster  about  my  being  out  so  late  ;  but  I 
do  stay  pretty  late  sometimes  when  I  walk  by 
myself,  and  so  he  hadn't  anything  new  to  say. 


Letter  Number  Twenty 

EDINBURGH 

WE  have  been  here  five  or  six  days  now,  but  the 
first  thing  I  must  write  is  the  rest  of  the  story  of 
the  lovers.  We  left  Buxton  the  next  day  after 
their  flight,  and  I  begged  Jone  to  stop  at  Carlisle 
and  let  us  make  a  little  trip  to  Gretna  Green.  I 
wanted  to  see  the  place  that  has  been  such  a  well- 
spring  of  matrimonial  joys,  and  besides,  I  thought 
we  might  find  Pomeroy  and  Angelica  still  there. 

I  had  not  seen  old  Snortfrizzle  again,  but  late 
that  night  I  had  heard  a  row  in  the  hotel,  and  I 
expect  it  was  him  back  from  the  Cat  and  Fiddle. 
Whether  he  was  inquiring  for  me  or  not  I  don't 
know,  or  what  he  was  doing,  or  what  he  did. 

Jone  thought  I  had  done  a  good  deal  of  meddling 
in  other  people's  business,  but  he  agreed  to  go  to 
Gretna  Green,  and  we  got  there  in  the  afternoon. 
I  left  Jone  to  take  a  smoke  at  the  station,  because  I 
thought  this  was  a  business  it  would  be  better  for 
me  to  attend  to  myself,  and  I  started  off  to  look  up 
the  village  blacksmith  and  ask  him  if  he  had  lately 
wedded  a  pair;  but,  will  you  believe  it,  madam,  I 
had  not  gone  far  on  the  main  road  of  the  village 
when,  a  little  ahead  of  me,  I  saw  two  bath-chairs 


2  i  2  Pomona  s    Travels 

coming  toward  me,  one  of  them  pulled  by  Robert 
son,  and  the  other  by  Pomeroy's  man,  and  in  these 
two  chairs  was  the  happy  lovers,  evidently  Mr.  and 
Mrs. !  Their  faces  was  filled  with  light  enough  to 
take  a  photograph,  and  I  could  almost  see  their 
hearts  swelling  with  transcendent  joy.  I  hastened 
toward  them,  and  in  an  instant  our  hands  was 
clasped  as  if  we  had  been  old  friends. 

They  told  me  their  tale.  They  had  reached  the 
station  in  plenty  of  time,  and  Robertson  had  got  a 
carriage  for  them,  and  he  and  the  other  man  had 
gone  with  them  third  class,  with  the  bath-chairs  in 
the  goods  carnages.  They  had  reached  Gretna 
Green  that  morning,  and  had  been  married  two 
hours.  Then  I  told  my  tale.  The  eyes  of  both  of 
them  was  dimmed  with  tears,  hers  the  most,  and 
again  they  clasped  my  hands.  "  Poor  father,"  said 
Angelica,  "  I  hope  he  didn't  go  all  the  way  to  the 
Cat  and  Fiddle,  and  that  the  night  air  didn't  strike 
into  his  joints ;  but  he  cannot  separate  us  now." 
And  she  looked  confiding  at  the  other  bath-chair. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?"  said  I,  and  they' 
said  they  had  just  been  making  plans.  I  saw, 
though,  that  their  minds  was  in  too  exalted  a 
state  to  do  this  properly  for  themselves,  and  so  I 
reflected  a  minute.  "  How  long  have  you  been  in 
Buxton?" 

"  I  have  been  there  two  weeks  and  two  days," 
said  she,  "  and  my  husband  " — oh,  the  effulgence 


Pomona  s   Travels  213 

that  filled  her  countenance  as  she  said  this — "  has 
been  there  one  day  longer." 

"  Then,"'  said  I,  "  my  advice  to  you  is  to  go  back 
to  Buxton  and  stay  there  five  days,  until  you  both 
have  taken  the  waters  and  the  baths  for  the  full 
three  weeks.  It  won't  be  much  to  bear  the  old 
gentleman's  upbraiding  for  five  days,  and  then, 
blessed  with  health  and  love,  you  can  depart.  No 
matter  what  you  do  afterward,  I'd  stick  it  out  at 
Buxton  for  five  days." 

" We'll  do  it,"  said  they;  and  then,  after  more 
gratitude  and  congratulations,  we  parted. 

And  now  I  must  tell  you  about  ourselves.  When 
Jone  had  been  three  weeks  at  Buxton,  and  done  all 
the  things  he  ought  to  do,  and  hadn't  done  anything 
he  oughtn't  to  do,  he  hadn't  any  more  rheumatism 
in  him  than  a  squirrel  that  jumps  from  bough  to 
bough.  But  will  you  believe  it,  madam,  I  had  such 
a  rheumatism  in  one  side  and  one  arm  that  it  made 
me  give  little  squeaks  when  I  did  up  my  back  hair, 
and  it  all  came  from  my  taking  the  baths  when 
there  wasn't  anything  the  matter  with  me ;  for  I 
found  out,  but  all  too  late,  that  while  the  waters  of 
Buxton  will  cure  rheumatism  in  people  that's  got 
it,  they  will  bring  it  out  in  people  who  never  had  it 
at  all.  We  was  told  that  we  ought  not  to  do  any 
thing  in  the  bathing  line  without  the  advice  of  a 
doctor;  but  those  little  tanks  in  the  floors  of  the 
bathrooms,  all  lined  with  tiles  and  filled  with  warm, 


214  Pomona 's   Travels 

transparent  water,  that  you  went  down  into  by 
marble  steps,  did  seem  so  innocent,  that  I  didn't 
believe  there  was  no  need  in  asking  questions  about 
them.  Jone  wanted  me  to  stay  three  weeks  longer 
until  I  was  cured,  but  I  wouldn't  listen  to  that.  I 
was  wild  to  get  to  Scotland,  and  as  my  rheumatism 
did  not  hinder  me  from  walking,  I  didn't  mind 

what  else  it  did. 

\ 

And  there  is  another  thing  I  must  tell  you.  One 
day  when  I  was  sitting  by  myself  on  The  Slopes 
waiting  for  Jone,  about  lunch  time,  and  with  a 
reminiscence  floating  through  my  mind  of  the  Dev 
onshire  clotted  cream  of  the  past,  never  perhaps  to 
return,  I  saw  an  elderly  woman  coming  along,  and 
when  she  got  near  she  stopped  and  spoke.  I  knew 
her  in  an  instant.  She  was  the  old  body  we  met  at 
the  Babylon  Hotel,  who  told  us  about  the  cottage 
at  Chedcombe.  I  asked  her  to  sit  down  beside  me 
and  talk,  because  I  wanted  to  tell  her  what  good 
times  we  had  had,  and  how  we  liked  the  place,  but 
she  said  she  couldn't,  as  she  was  obliged  to  go  on. 

"And  did  you  like  Chedcombe ?"  said  she.  "I 
hope  you  and  your  husband  kept  well." 

I  said  yes,  except  Jone's  rheumatism,  we  felt 
splendid  ;  for  my  aches  hadn't  come  on  then,  and  I 
was  going  on  to  gush  about  the  lovely  country  she 
had  sent  us  to,  but  she  didn't  seem  to  want  to 
listen. 

"  Really,"  said  she,  "  and  your  husband  had  the 


Pomona 's   Travels 


215 


rheumatism.  It  was  a  wise  thing  for  you  to  come 
here.  We  English  people  have  reason  to  be  proud 
of  our  country.  If  we  have  our  banes,  we  also  have 
our  antidotes  ;  and  it  isn't  every  country  that  can 
say  that,  is  it  ?  " 

I  wanted  to  speak  up  for  America,  and  tried  to 


"And  did  you  like  Chedcombe  ?  " 

think  of  some  good  antidote  with  the  proper  banes 
attached  ;  but  before  I  could  do  it  she  gave  her 
head  a  little  wag,  and  said,  "  Good  morning  ;  nice 
weather,  isn't  it  ? "  and  wobbled  away.  It  struck 
me  that  the  old  body  was  a  little  lofty,  and 
just  then  Mr.  Poplington,  who  I  hadn't  noticed, 
came  up. 


2 1 6  Pomona  s    Travels 

"  Really,"  said  he,  "  I  didn't  know  you  was  ac 
quainted  with  the  Countess." 

"The  which  ?"  said  I. 

"  The  Countess  of  Mussleby,"  said  he,  "  that  you 
was  just  talking  to." 

"Countess  !  "  I  cried.  "  Why,  that's  the  old  per 
son  who  recommended  us  to  go  to  Chedcombe." 

"  Very  natural,"  said  he,  "  for  her  to  do  that,  for 
her  estates  lie  south  of  Chedcombe,  and  she  takes 
a  great  interest  in  the  villages  around  about,  and 
knows  all  the  houses  to  let." 

I  parted  from  him  and  wandered  away,  a  sadness 
stealing  o'er  my  soul.  Gone  with  the  recollections 
of  the  clotted  cream  was  my  visions  of  diamond 
tiaras,  tossing  plumes,  and  long  folds  of  brocades 
and  laces  sweeping  the  marble  floors  of  palaces. 
If  ever  again  I  read  a  novel  with  a  countess  in 
it,  I  shall  see  the  edge  of  a  yellow  flannel  petti 
coat  and  a  pair  of  shoes  like  two  horse-hair  bags, 
which  was  the  last  that  I  saw  of  this  thunderbolt 
into  the  middle  of  my  visions  of  aristocracy. 

Jone  and  me  got  to  like  Buxton  very  much.  We 
met  many  pleasant  people,  and  as  most  of  them 
had  a  chord  in  common,  we  was  friendly  enough. 
Jone  said  it  made  him  feel  sad  in  the  smoking-room 
to  see  the  men  he'd  got  acquainted  with  get  well 
and  go  home,  but  that's  a  kind  of  sadness  that  all 
parties  can  bear  up  under  pretty  well. 

I  haven't  said  a  word  yet  about  Scotland,  though 


Pomona  s   Travels  2 1  7 

we  have  been  here  a  week,  but  I  really  must  get 
something  about  it  into  this  letter.  I  was  saying 
to  Jone  the  other  day  that  if  I  was  to  meet  a  king 
with  a  crown  on  his  head  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
should  know  that  king  if  I  saw  him  again,  so  taken 
up  would  I  be  with  looking  at  his  crown,  especially 
if  it  had  jewels  in  it  such  as  I  saw  in  the  regalia  at 
the  Tower  of  London.  Now  Edinburgh  seems  to 
strike  me  in  very  much  the  same  way.  Prince 
Street  is  its  crown,  and  whenever  I  think  of  this 
city  it  will  be  of  this  magnificent  street  and  the 
things  that  can  be  seen  from  it. 

It  is  a  great  thing  for  a  street  to  have  one  side  of 
it  taken  away  and  sunk  out  of  sight  so  that  there  is 
a  clear  view  far  and  wide,  and  visitors  can  stand  and 
look  at  nearly  everything  that  is  worth  seeing  in 
the  whole  town,  as  if  they  was  in  the  front  seats  of 
the  balcony  in  a  theatre,  and  looking  on  the  stage. 
You  know  I  am  very  fond  of  the  theatre,  madam, 
but  I  never  saw  anything  in  the  way  of  what  they 
call  spectacular  representation  that  came  near  Edin 
burgh  as  seen  from  Prince  Street. 

But  as  I  said  in  one  of  my  first  letters,  I  am  not 
going  to  write  about  things  and  places  that  you  can 
get  much  better  description  of  in  books,  and  so  I 
won't  take  up  any  time  in  telling  how  we  stand  at 
the  window  of  our  room  at  the  Royal  Hotel,  and 
look  out  at  the  Old  Town  standing  like  a  forest  of 
tall  houses  on  the  other  side  of  the  valley,  with  the 


2 1 8  Pomona  s   Travels 

great  castle  perched  up  high  above  them,  and  all 
the  hills  and  towers  and  the  streets  all  spread  out 
below  us,  with  Scott's  monument  right  in  front, 
with  everybody  he  ever  wrote  about  standing  on 
brackets,  which  stick  out  everywhere  from  the  bot 
tom  up  to  the  very  top  of  the  monument,  which  is 
higher  than  the  tallest  house,  and  looks  like  a  stee 
ple  without  a  church  to  it.  It  is  the  most  beautiful 
thing  of  the  kind  I  ever  saw,  and  I  have  made  out, 
or  think  I  have,  nearly  every  one  of  the  figures 
that's  carved  on  it. 

I  think  I  shall  like  the  Scotch  people  very  much, 
but  just  now  there  is  one  thing  about  them  that 
stands  up  as  high  above  their  other  good  points  as 
the  castle  does  above  the  rest  of  the  city,  and  that 
is  the  feeling  they  have  for  anybody  who  has  done 
anything  to  make  his  fellow-countrymen  proud  of 
him.  A  famous  Scotchman  cannot  die  without 
being  pretty  promptly  born  again  in  stone  or 
bronze,  and  put  in  some  open  place  with  seats  con 
venient  for  people  to  sit  and  look  at  him.  I  like 
this  ;  glory  ought  to  begin  at  home. 


Letter  Number  Twenty-one 

EDINBURGH 

JONE  being  just  as  lively  on  his  legs  as  he  ever 
was  in  his  life,  thanks  to  the  waters  of  Buxton,  and  I 
having  the  rheumatism  now  only  in  my  arm,  which 
I  don't  need  to  walk  with,  we  have  gone  pretty 
much  all  over  Edinburgh,  and  a  great  place  it  is  to 
walk  in,  so  far  as  variety  goes.  Some  of  the  streets 
are  so  steep  you  have  to  go  up  steps  if  you  are 
walking,  and  about  a  mile  around  if  you  are  driv 
ing.  I  never  get  tired  wandering  about  the  Old 
Town  with  its  narrow  streets  and  awfully  tall 
houses,  with  family  washes  hanging  out  from  every 
story. 

The  closes  are  queer  places.  They  are  very 
like  little  villages  set  into  the  town  as  if  they  was 
raisins  in  a  pudding.  You  get  to  them  by  alleys 
or  tunnels,  and  when  you  are  inside  you  find  a 
little  neighborhood  that  hasn't  anything  more  to  do 
with  the  next  close,  a  block  away,  than  one  country 
village  has  with  another. 

We  went  to  see  John  Knox's  house,  and  al 
though  Mr.  Knox  was  pretty  hard  on  vanities  and 
frivolities,  he  didn't  mind  having  a  good  house  over 
his  head,  with  woodwork  on  the  walls  and  ceilings 


22O  Pomona  s    Travels 

that  wasn't  any  more  necessary  than  the  back 
buttons  on  his  coat. 

We  have  been  reading  hard  since  we  have  beer\ 
in  Edinburgh,  and  whenever  Mr.  Knox  and  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots  come  together,  I  take  Mary's  side 
without  asking  questions.  I  have  no  doubt  Mr. 
Knox  was  a  good  man,  but  if  meddling  in  other 
people's  business  gave  a  person  the  right  to  have  a 
monument,  the  top  of  his  would  be  the  first  thing 
travellers  would  see  when  they  come  near  Edin 
burgh. 

When  we  went  to  Holyrood  Palace  it  struck 
me  that  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  deserved  a  better 
house.  Of  course,  it  wasn't  built  for  her,  but  I 
don't  care  very  much  for  the  other  people  who 
lived  in  it.  The  rooms  are  good  enough  for  an 
ordinary  household's  use,  although  the  little  room 
that  she  had  her  supper  party  in  when  Rizzio  was 
killed,  wouldn't  be  considered  by  Jone  and  me  as 
anything  like  big  enough  for  our  family  to  eat  in, 
But  there  is  a  general  air  about  the  place  as  if  it 
belonged  to  a  royal  family  that  was  not  very  well 
off,  and  had  to  abstain  from  a  good  deal  of 
grandeur. 

If  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  could  come  to  life  again, 
I  expect  the  Scotch  people  would  give  her  the  best 
palace  that  money  could  buy,  for  they  have  grown 
to  think  the  world  of  her,  and  her  pictures  blossom 
out  all  over  Edinburgh  like  daisies  in  a  pasture  field. 


Pomona  s   Travels  2  2 1 

The  first  morning  after  we  got  here  I  was  as 
much  surprised  as  if  I  had  met  Mary  Queen  of 
Scots  walking  along  Prince  Street  with  a  parasol 
over  her  head.  We  were  sitting  in  the  reading- 
room  of  the  hotel,  and  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room  was  a  long  desk  at  which  people  was  sitting, 
writing  letters,  all  with  their  backs  to  us.  One  of 
these  was  a  young  man  wearing  a  nice  light-colored 
sack  coat,  with  a  shiny  white  collar  sticking  above 
it,  and  his  black  derby  hat  was  on  the  desk  beside 
him.  When  he  had  finished  his  letter  he  put  a 
stamp  on  it  and  got  up  to  mail  it.  I  happened  to 
be  looking  at  him,  and  I  believe  I  stopped  breathing 
as  I  sat  and  stared.  Under  his  coat  he  had  on  a 
little  skirt  of  green  plaid  about  big  enough  for  my 
Corinne  when  she  was  about  five  years  old,  and 
then  he  didn't  wear  anything  whatever  until  you  got 
down  to  his  long  stockings  and  low  shoes.  I  was 
so  struck  with  the  feeling  that  he  was  an  absent- 
minded  person  that  I  punched  Jone  and  whispered 
to  him  to  go  quick  and  tell  him.  Jone  looked  at 
him  and  laughed,  and  said  that  was  the  Highland 
costume. 

Now  if  that  man  had  had  his  martial  plaid 
wrapped  around  him,  and  had  worn  a  Scottish  cap 
with  a  feather  in  it  and  a  long  ribbon  hanging  down 
his  back,  with  his  claymore  girded  to  his  side,  I 
wouldn't  have  been  surprised  ;  for  this  is  Scotland, 
and  that  would  have  been  like  the  pictures  I  have 


222 


Pomona  s   Travels 


seen  of  Highlanders.  But  to  see  a  man  with 
the  upper  half  of  him  dressed  like  a  clerk  in 
a  dry  goods  store  and  the  lower  half  like  a 
Highland  chief,  was  enough  to  make  a  stranger 
gasp. 

But  since  then  I  have  seen  a  good  many  young 

men  dressed 
that  way.  I 
believe  it  is 
considered  the 
tip  of  the  fash 
ion.  I  haven't 
seen  any  of 
the  bare-legged 
dandies  yet 
with  a  high 
silk  hat  and  an 
umbrella,  but  I 
expect  it  won't 
be  long  before 
I  meet  one. 
We  often  see 
the  Highland 
soldiers  that 
belong  to  the 

garrison  at  the  castle,  and  they  look  mighty  fine 
with  their  plaid  shawls  and  their  scarfs  and  their 
feathers ;  but  to  see  a  man  who  looks  as  if  one  half 
of  him  belonged  to  London  Bridge  and  the  other 


Jone  looked  at  him,  and  said  that  was  the  Highland 
costume  " 


Pomona  s   Travels  223 

half  to  the  Highland  moors,  does  look  to  me  like  a 
pretty  bad  mixture. 

I  am  not  so  sure,  either,  that  the  whole  Highland 
dress  isn't  better  suited  to  Egypt,  where  it  doesn't 
often  rain,  than  to  Scotland.  Last  Saturday  we 
was  at  St.  Giles's  Church,  and  the  man  who  took  us 
around  told  us  we  ought  to  come  early  next  morn 
ing  and  see  the  military  service,  which  was  some 
thing  very  fine;  and  as  Jone  gave  him  a  shilling  he 
said  he  would  be  on  hand  and  watch  for  us,  and 
give  us  a  good  place  where  we  could  see  the  sol 
diers  come  in.  On  Sunday  morning  it  rained  hard, 
but  we  was  both  at  the  church  before  eight  o'clock, 
and  so  was  a  good  many  other  people,  but  the 
doors  was  shut  and  they  wouldn't  let  us  in.  They 
told  us  it  was  such  a  bad  morning  that  the  soldiers 
could  not  come  out,  and  so  there  would  be  no  mili 
tary  service  that  day.  I  don't  know  whether  those 
fine  fellows  thought  that  the  colors  would  run  out 
of  their  beautiful  plaids,  or  whether  they  would  get 
rheumatism  in  their  knees;  but  it  did  seem  to  me 
pretty  hard  that  soldiers  could  not  come  out  in  the 
weather  that  lots  of  common  citizens  didn't  seem  to 
mind  at  all.  I  was  a  good  deal  put  out,  for  I  hate 
to  get  up  early  for  nothing,  but  there  was  no  use 
saying  anything,  and  all  we  could  do  was  to  go 
home,  as  all  the  other  people  with  full  suits  of 
clothes  did. 

Jone  and  I  have  got  so  much  more  to  see  before 


224  Pomona  s    Travels 

we  go  home,  that  it  is  very  well  we  are  both  able  to 
skip  around  lively.  Of  course  there  are  ever  and 
ever  so  many  places  that  we  want  to  go  to,  but 
can't  do  it,  but  I  am  bound  to  see  the  Highlands 
and  the  country  of  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake."  We 
have  been  reading  up  Walter  Scott,  and  I  think 
more  than  I  ever  did  that  he  is  perfectly  splendid. 
While  we  was  in  Edinburgh  we  felt  bound  to  go 
and  see  Melrose  Abbey  and  Abbotsford.  I  shall 
not  say  much  about  these  two  places,  but  I  will  say 
that  to  go  into  Sir  Walter  Scott's  library  and  sit  in 
the  old  armchair  he  used  to  sit  in,  at  the  desk  he 
used  to  write  on,  and  see  his  books  and  things 
around  me,  gave  me  more  a  feeling  of  reverential- 
ism  than  I  have  had  in  any  cathedral  yet. 

As  for  Melrose  Abbey,  I  could  have  walked  about 
under  those  towering  walls  and  lovely  arches  until 
the  stars  peeped  out  from  the  lofty  vaults  above  ; 
but  Jone  and  the  man  who  drove  the  carriage  were 
of  a  different  way  of  thinking,  and  we  left  all  too 
soon.  But  one  thing  I  did  do :  I  went  to  the  grave 
of  Michael  Scott  the  wizard,  where  once  was  shut 
up  the  book  of  awful  mysteries,  with  a  lamp  always 
burning  by  it,  though  the  flagstone  was  shut  down 
tight  on  top  of  it,  and  I  got  a  piece  of  moss  and 
a  weed.  We  don't  do  much  in  the  way  of  carrying 
off  such  things,  but  I  want  Corinne  to  read  the 
"  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  and  then  I  shall  give  her  that 
moss  and  that  weed,  and  tell  where  I  got  them.  I 


Pomona  s    Travels  225 

believe   that,   in    the   way  of   romantics,  Corinne  is 
going  to  be  more  like  me  than  like  Jone. 

To-morrow  we  go  to  the  Highlands,  and  we  shall 
leave  our  two  big  trunks  in  the  care  of  the  man 
in  the  red  coat,  who  is  commander-in-chief  at  the 
Royal  Hotel,  and  who  said  he  would  take  as  much 
care  of  them  as  if  they  was  two  glass  jars  filled 
with  rubies;  and  we  believed  him,  for  he  has  done 
nothing  but  take  care  of  us  since  we  came  to 
Edinburgh,  and  good  care,  too. 


Letter  Number  Twenty-two 


KINLOCH  RANNOCH. 

T  happened  that  the  day  we  went 
north  was  a  very  fine  one,  and  as 
soon  as  we  got  into  the  real  High 
land  country  there  was  nothing  to  hinder  me  from 
feeling  that  my  feet  was  on  my  native  heath, 
except  that  I  was  in  a  railway  carriage,  and  that  I 
had  no  Scotch  blood  in  me,  but  the  joy  of  my  soul 
was  all  the  same.  There  was  an  old  gentleman  got 
into  our  carriage  at  Perth,  and  when  he  saw  how  we 
was  taking  in  everything  our  eyes  could 'reach,  for 
Jone  is  a  good  deal  more  fired  up  by  travel  than 
he  used  to  be — I  expect  it  must  have  been  the 
Buxton  waters  that  made  the  change — he  began 
to  tell  us  all  about  the  places  we  were  passing 
through.  There  didn't  seem  to  be  a  rock  or  a 


Pomona 's   Travels  227 

stream  that  hadn't  a  bit  of  history  to  it  for  that 
old  gentleman  to  tell  us  about. 

We  got  out  at  a  little  town  called  Struan,  and 
then  we  took  a  carriage  and  drove  across  the  wild 
moors  and  hills  for  thirteen  miles  till  we  came  to 
this  village  at  the  end  of  Loch  Rannoch.  The  wind 
blew  strong  and  sharp,  but  we  knew  what  we  had  to 
expect,  and  had  warm  clothes  on.  And  with  the 
cool  breeze,  and  remembering  "  Scots  wha  ha'  wi' 
Wallace  bled,"  it  made  my  blood  tingle  all  the 
way. 

We  are  going  to  stay  here  at  least  a  week.  We 
shall  not  try  to  do  everything  that  can  be  done  on 
Scottish  soil,  for  we  shall  not  stalk  stags  or  shoot 
grouse;  and  I  have  told  Jone  that  he  may  put  on  as 
many  Scotch  bonnets  and  plaids  as  he  likes,  but 
there  is  one  thing  he  is  not  going  to  do,  and  that  is 
to  go  bare-kneed,  to  which  he  answered,  he  would 
never  do  that  unless  he  could  dip  his  knees  into 
weak  coffee  so  that  they  would  be  the  same  color 
as  his  face. 

There  is  a  nice  inn  here  with  beautiful  scenery  all 
around,  and  the  lovely  Loch  Rannoch  stretches  away 
for  eleven  miles.  Everything  is  just  as  Scotch  as  it 
can  be.  Even  the  English  people  who  come  here 
put  on  knickerbockers  and  bonnets.  I  have  never 
been  anywhere  else  where  it  is  considered  the 
correct  thing  to  dress  like  the  natives,  and  I  will 
say  here  that  it  is  very  few  of  the  natives  that  wear 


228  Pomona  s   Travels 

kilts.     That    sort  of  thing  seems    to    be   given    up 
to  the  fancy  Highlanders. 

Nearly  all  the  talk  at  the  inn  is  about  shooting 
and  fishing.  Stag-hunting  here  is  very  different 
from  what  it  is  in  England  in  more  ways  than  one. 
In  the  first  place,  stags  are  not  hunted  with  horses 
and  hounds.  In  the  second  place,  the  sport  is 
not  free.  A  gentleman  here  told  Jone  that  if  a 
man  wanted  to  shoot  a  stag  on  these  moors  it 
would  cost  him  one  rifle  cartridge  and  six  five- 
pound  notes  ;  and  when  Jone  did  not  understand 
what  that  meant,  the  man  went  on  and  told  him 
about  how  the  deer-stalking  was  carried  on  here. 
He  said  that  some  of  the  big  proprietors  up  here 
owned  as  much  as  ninety  thousand  acres  of  moor 
land,  and  they  let  it  out  mostly  to  English  people 
for  hunting  and  fishing.  And  if  it  is  stag-hunting 
the  tenant  wants,  the  price  he  pays  is  regulated  by 
the  number  of  stags  he  has  the  privilege  of  shoot 
ing.  Each  stag  he  is  allowed  to  kill  costs  him 
thirty  pounds.  So  if  he  wants  the  pleasure  of  shoot 
ing  thirty  stags  in  the  season,  his  rent  will  be  nine 
hundred  pounds.  This  he  pays  for  the  stag-shoot 
ing,  but  some  kind  of  •».  house  and  about  ten. 
thousand  acres  are  thrown  in,  which  he  has  a 
perfect  right  to  sit  down  on  and  rest  himself  on, 
but  he  can't  shoot  a  grouse  on  it  unless  he  pays 
extra  for  that.  And,  what  is  more,  if  he  happens 
to  be  a  bad  shot,  or  breaks  his  leg  and  has  to 


Pomona  s   Travels  229 

stay    in    the    house,   and    doesn't    shoot    his  thirty 
stags,  he  has  got   to  pay  for  them  all  the  same. 

When  Jone  told  me  all  this,  I  said  I  thought  a 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  pretty  high  price  to  pay 
for  the  right  to  shoot  one  deer.  But  Jone  said  I 
didn't  consider  all  the  rest  the  man  got.  In  the 
first  place,  he  had  the  right  to  get  up  very  early  in 
the  morning,  in  the  gloom  and  drizzle,  and  to  trudge 
through  the  slop  and  the  heather  until  he  got  far 
away  from  the  neighborhood  of  any  human  being, 
and  then  he  could  go  up  on  some  high  piece  of 
ground  and  take  a  spyglass  and  search  the  whole 
country  round  for  a  stag.  When  he  saw  one  way 
off  in  the  distance  snuffing  the  morning  air,  or  hunt 
ing  for  his  breakfast  among  the  heather,  he  had  the 
privilege  of  walking  two  or  three  miles  over  the 
moor  so  as  to  get  that  stag  between  the  wind  and 
himself,  so  that  it  could  not  scent  him  or  hear  him. 
Then  he  had  the  glorious  right  to  get  his  rifle  all 
ready,  and  steal  and  creep  toward  that  stag  to  cut 
short  his  existence.  He  has  to  be  as  careful  and 
as  sneaky  as  if  he  was  a  snake  in  the  grass,  going 
behind  little  hills  and  down  into  gullies,  and  some 
times  almost  crawling  on  his  stomach  where  he 
goes  over  an  open  place,  and  doing  everything  he 
can  to  keep  that  stag  from  knowing  his  end  is  near. 
Sometimes  he  follows  his  victim  all  day,  and  the  sun 
goes  down  before  he  has  the  glorious  right  of  stand 
ing  up  and  lodging  a  bullet  in  its  unsuspecting  heart. 


2  30  Pomona  s    Travels 

"  So  you  see,"  said  Jone,  "  he  gets  a  lot  for  his 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars." 

"  They  do  get  a  good  deal  more  for  their  money 
than  I  thought  they  did,"  said  I  ;  "  but  I  wonder  if 
those  rich  sportsmen  ever  think  that  if  they  would 
take  the  money  that  they  pay  for  shooting  thirty  or 
forty  stags  in  one  season,  they  might  buy  a  rhinoce 
ros,  which  they  could  set  up  on  a  hill  and  shoot  at 
every  morning  if  they  liked.  A  game  animal  like 
that  would  last  them  for  years,  and  if  they  ever  felt 
like  it,  they  could  ask  their  friends  to  help  them 
shoot  without  costing  them  anything." 

Jone  is  pretty  hard  on  sport  with  killing  in  it. 
He  does  not  mind  eating  meat,  but  he  likes  to  have 
the  butcher  do  the  killing.  But  I  reckon  he  is  a 
little  too  tender-hearted.  But,  as  for  me,  I  like 
sport  of  some  kinds,  especially  when  you  don't  have 
your  pity  or  your  sympathies  awakened  by  seeing 
your  prey  enjoying  life  when  you  are  seeking  to 
encompass  his  end.  Of  course,  by  that  I  mean 
fishing. 

There  are  a  good  many  trout  in  the  lake,  and 
people  can  hire  the  privilege  of  fishing  for  them ; 
and  I  begged  Jone  to  let  me  go  out  in  a  boat  and 
fish.  He  was  rather  in  favor  of  staying  ashore  and 
fishing  in  the  little  river,  but  I  didn't  want  to  do 
that.  I  wanted  to  go  out  and  have  some  regular 
lake  fishing.  At  last  Jone  agreed,  provided  I  would 
not  expect  him  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the 


Pomona s   Travels  231 

fishing.  "  Of  course  I  don't  expect  anything  like 
that,"  said  I  ;  "  and  it  would  be  a  good  deal  better 
for  you  to  stay  on  shore.  The  landlord  says  a  gilly 
will  go  along  to  row  the  boat  and  attend  to  the 
lines  and  rods  and  all  that,  and  so  there  won't  be 
any  need  for  you  at  all,  and  you  can  stay  on  shore 
with  your  book,  and  watch  if  you  like." 

"  And  suppose  you  tumble  overboard,"  said  Jone. 

"  Then  you  can  swim  out,"  I  said,  "  and  perhaps 
wade  a  good  deal  of  the  way.  I  don't  suppose  we 
need  go  far  from  the  bank." 

Jone  laughed,  and  said  he  was  going  too. 

"  Very  well,"  said  I  ;  "  but  you  have  got  to  stay 
in  the  bow,  with  your  back  to  me,  and  take  an 
interesting  book  with  you,  for  it  is  a  long  time  since 
I  have  done  any  fishing,  and  I  am  not  going  to  do 
it  with  two  men  watching  me  and  telling  me  how  I 
ought  to  do  it  and  how  I  oughtn't  to.  One  will  be 
enough." 

"  And  that  one  won't  be  me,"  said  Jone,  "  for 
fishing  is  not  one  of  the  branches  I  teach  in  my 
school." 

I  would  have  liked  it  better  if  Jone  and  me  had 
gone  alone,  he  doing  nothing  but  row  ;  but  the  land 
lord  wouldn't  let  his  boat  that  way,  and  said  we 
must  take  a  gilly,  which,  as  far  as  I  can  make  out, 
is  a  sort  of  sporting  farmhand.  That  is  the  way  to 
do  fishing  in  these  parts. 

Well,  we  started,  and  Jone  sat  in  the  front,  with 


232  Pomona  s    Travels 

his  back  to  me,  and  the  long-legged  gilly  rowed  like 
a  good  fellow.  When  we  got  to  a  good  place  to 
fish  he  stopped,  and  took  a  fishing-rod  that  was  in 
pieces  and  screwed  them  together,  and  fixed  the 
line  all  right  so  that  it  would  run  along  the  rod  to 
a  little  wheel  near  the  handle,  and  then  he  put  on 
a  couple  of  hooks  with  artificial  flies  on  them,  which 
was  so  small  I  couldn't  imagine  how  the  fish  could 
see  them.  While  he  was  doing  all  this  I  got  a  little 
fidgety,  because  I  had  never  fished  except  with  a 
straight  pole  and  line  with  a  cork  to  it,  which  would 
bob  when  the  fish  bit ;  but  this  was  altogether  a 
different  sort  of  a  thing.  When  it  was  all  ready  he 
handed  me  the  pole,  and  then  sat  down  very  polite 
to  look  at  me. 

Now,  if  he  had  handed  me  the  rod,  and  then  taken 
another  boat  and  gone  home,  perhaps  I  might  have 
known  what  to  do  with  the  thing  after  a  while,  but 
I  must  say  that  at  that  minute  I  didn't.  I  held  the 
rod  out  over  the  water  and  let  the  flies  dangle  down 
into  it,  but  do  what  I  would,  they  wouldn't  sink  ; 
there  wasn't  weight  enough  on  them. 

"  You  must  throw  your  fly,  madam,"  said  the 
gilly,  always  very  polite.  "  Let  me  give  it  a  throw 
for  you,"  and  then  he  took  the  rod  in  his  hand  and 
gave  it  a  whirl  and  a  switch  which  sent  the  flies  out 
ever  so  far  from  the  boat ;  then  he  drew  it  along  a 
little,  so  that  the  flies  skipped  over  the  top  of  the 
water. 


Pomona  s   Travels  235 

I  didn't  say  anything,  and  taking  the  pole  in 
both  hands  I  gave  it  a  wild  twirl  over  my  head,  and 
then  it  flew  out  as  if  I  was  trying  to  whip  one  of 
the  leaders  in  a  four-horse  team.  As  I  did  this 
Jone  gave  a  jump  that  took  him  pretty  near  out  of 
the  boat,  for  two  flies  swished  just  over  the  bridge 
of  his  nose,  and  so  close  to  his  eyes  as  he  was  read 
ing  an  interesting  dialogue,  and  not  thinking  of  fish 
or  even  of  me,  that  he  gave  a  jump  sideways, 
which,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  gilly  grabbing  him, 
would  have  taken  him  overboard.  I  was  frightened 
myself,  and  said  to  him  that  I  had  told  him  he 
ought  not  to  come  in  the  boat,  and  it  would  have 
been  a  good  deal  better  for  him  to  have  stayed  on 
shore. 

He  didn't  say  anything,  but  I  noticed  he  turned 
up  his  collar  and  pulled  down  his  hat  over  his  eyes 
and  ears.  The  gilly  said  that  perhaps  I  had  too 
much  line  out,  and  so  he  took  the  rod  and  wound 
up  a  good  deal  of  the  line.  I  liked  this  better, 
because  it  was  easier  to  whip  out  the  line  and  pull 
it  in  again.  Of  course,  I  would  not  be  likely  to 
catch  fish  so  much  nearer  the  boat,  but  then  we 
can't  have  everything  in  this  world.  Once  I 
thought  I  had  a  bite,  and  I  gave  the  rod  such  a  jerk 
that  the  line  flew  back  against  me,  and  when  I  was 
getting  ready  to  throw  it  out  again,  I  found  that 
one  of  the  little  hooks  had  stuck  fast  in  my  thumb. 
I  tried  to  take  it  out  with  the  other  hand,  but  it 


236  Pomona  s   Travels 

was  awfully  awkward  to  do,  because  the  rod  wob 
bled  and  kept  jerking  on  it.  The  gilly  asked  me  if 
there  was  anything  the  matter  with  the  flies,  but  I 
didn't  want  him  to  know  what  had  happened,  and 
so  I  said,  "  Oh,  no,"  and  turning  my  back  on  him  I 
tried  my  best  to  get  the  hook  out  without  his  help 
ing  me,  for  I  didn't  want  him  to  think  that  the  first 
thing  I  caught  was  myself,  after  just  missing  my 
husband — he  might  be  afraid  it  would  be  his  turn 
next.  You  cannot  imagine  how  bothersome  it  is  to 
go  fishing  with  a  gilly  to  wait  on  you.  I  would 
rather  wash  dishes  with  a  sexton  to  wipe  them  and 
look  for  nicks  on  the  edges. 

At  last — and  I  don't  know  how  it  happened — I 
did  hook  a  fish,  and  the  minute  I  felt  him  I  gave  a 
jerk,  and  up  he  came.  I  heard  the  gilly  say  some 
thing  about  playing,  but  I  was  in  no  mood  for  play, 
and  if  that  fish  had  been  shot  up  out  of  the  water 
by  a  submarine  volcano  it  couldn't  have  ascended 
any  quicker  than  when  I  jerked  it  up.  Then  as 
quick  as  lightning  it  went  whirling  through  the  air, 
struck  the  pages  of  Jone's  book,  turning  over  two 
or  three  of  them,  and  then  wiggled  itself  half  way 
down  Jone's  neck,  between  his  skin  and  his  collar, 
while  the  loose  hook  swung  around  and  nipped  him 
in  his  ear. 

"  Don't  pull,  madam,"  shouted  the  gilly,  and  it 
was  well  he  did,  for  I  was  just  on  the  point  of 
giving  an  awful  jerk  to  get  the  fish  loose  from  Jone. 


Pomona  s   Travels  237 

Jone  gave  a  grab  at  the  fish,  which  was  trying  to 
get  down  his  back,  and  pulling  him  out  threw  him 
down  ;  but  by  doing  this  he  jerked  the  other  hook 
into  his  ear,  and  then  a  yell  arose  such  as  I  never 
before  heard  from  Jone.  "  I  told  you  you  ought 
not  to  come  in  this  boat,"  said  I ;  "  you  don't  like 
fishing,  and  something  is  always  happening  to 
you." 

"  Like  fishing  !  "  cried  Jone.  "  I  should  say  not," 
and  he  made  up  such  a  comical  face  that  even  the 
gilly,  who  was  very  polite,  had  to  laugh  as  he  went 
to  take  the  hook  out  of  his  ear. 

When  Jone  and  the  fish  had  been  got  off  my  line,  ? 
Jone  turned  to  me  and  said,  "Are  you  going  to  fish 
any  more?" 

"  Not  with  you  in  the  boat,"  I  answered  ;  and 
then  he  said  he  was  glad  to  hear  that,  and  told  the 
man  he  could  row  us  ashore. 

I  can  assure  you,  madam,  that  fishing  in  a  rather 
wobbly  boat  with  a  husband  and  a  gilly  in  it,  is  not 
to  my  taste,  and  that  was  the  end  of  our  sporting 
experiences  in  Scotland,  but  it  did  not  end  the 
glorious  times  we  had  by  that  lake  and  on  the 
moors. 

We  hired  a  little  pony  trap  and  drove  up  to  the 
other  end  of  the  lake,  and  not  far  beyond  that  is 
the  beginning  of  Rannoch  Moor,  which  the  books 
say  is  one  of  the  wildest  and  most  desolate  places 
in  all  Europe.  So  far  as  we  went  over  the  moor 


238  Pomona  s   Travels 

we  found  that  this  was  truly  so,  and  I  know  that  I, 
at  least,  enjoyed  it  ever  so  much  more  because  it 
was  so  wild  and  desolate.  As  far  as  we  could  see, 
the  moors  stretched  away  in  every  direction,  cov 
ered  in  most  places  by  heather,  now  out  of  blossom, 
but  with  great  rocks  standing  out  of  the  ground  in 
some  places,  and  here  and  there  patches  of  grass. 
Sometimes  we  could  see  four  or  five  lochs  at  once, 
some  of  them  two  or  three  miles  long,  and  down 
through  the  middle  of  the  moor  came  the  maddest 
and  most  harum-scarum  little  river  that  could  be 
imagined.  It  actually  seemed  to  go  out  of  its  way 
to  find  rocks  to  jump  over,  just  as  if  it  was  a  young 
calf,  and  some  of  the  waterfalls  were  beautiful.  All 
around  us  was  melancholy  mountains,  all  of  them 
with  "Ben-"  for  their  first  names,  except  Schiehal- 
lion,  which  was  the  best  shaped  of  any  of  them, 
coming  up  to  a  point  and  standing  by  itself,  which 
was  what  I  used  to  think  mountains  always  did ; 
but  now  I  know  they  run  into  each  other  so  that 
you  can  hardly  tell  where  one  ends  and  the  other 
begins. 

For  three  or  four  days  we  went  out  on  these 
moors,  sometimes  when  the  sun  was  shining,  and 
sometimes  when  there  was  a  heavy  rain  and  the 
wind  blew  gales,  and  I  think  I  liked  this  last  kind 
of  weather  the  best,  for  it  gave  me  an  idea  of  lonely 
desolation  which  I  never  had  in  any  part  of  the 
world  I  have  ever  been  in  before.  There  is  often 


Pomona  s    Travels 


239 


not  a  house  to  be  seen,  not  even  a  crofter's  hut,  and 
we  seldom  met  anybody.  Sometimes  I  wandered 
off  by  myself  behind  a  hillock  or  rocks  where  I 
could  not  even  see  Jone,  and  then  I  used  to  try  to 
imagine  how  Eve  would  have  felt  if  she  had  early 


Pomona  drinking  it  in 

become  a  widow,  and  to  put  myself  in  her  place. 
There  was  always  clouds  in  the  sky,  sometimes 
dark  and  heavy  ones  coming  down  to  the  very 
peaks  of  the  mountains,  and  not  a  tree  was  to  be 
seen,  except  a  few  rowan  trees  or  bushes  close  to 


240  Pomona  s    Travels 

the  river.  But  by  the  side  of  Lock  Rannoch,  on 
our  way  back  to  the  village,  we  passed  along  the 
edge  of  a  fine  old  forest  called  the  "  Black  Woods 
of  Rannoch."  There  are  only  three  of  these  ancient 
forests  left  in  Scotland,  and  some  of  the  trees  in 
this  one  are  said  to  be  eight  hundred  years  old. 

The  last  time  we  was  out  on  the  Rannoch  Moor 
there  was  such  a  savage  and  driving  wind,  and  the 
rain  came  down  in  such  torrents,  that  my  mackin 
tosh  was  blown  nearly  off  of  me,  and  I  was  wet  from 
my  head  to  my  heels.  But  I  would  have  stayed 
out  hours  longer  if  Jone  had  been  willing,  and  I 
never  felt  so  sorry  to  leave  these  Grampian  Hills, 
where  I  would  have  been  glad  to  have  had  my 
father  feed  his  flocks,  and  where  I  might  have 
wandered  away  my  childhood,  barefooted  over  the 
heather,  singing  Scotch  songs  and  drinking  in  deep 
draughts  of  the  pure  mountain  air,  instead  of — but 
no  matter. 

To-morrow  we  leave  the  Highlands,  but  as  we  go 
to  follow  the  shallop  of  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  I 
should  not  repine. 


Letter  Number  Twenty -tbree 


OBAN,  SCOTLAND 

T  would  seem  to  be  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world,  when  looking  on  the 
map,  to  go  across  the  country  from 
Loch  Rannoch  over  to  Katrine  and  all  those  cele 
brated  parts,  but  we  found  we  could  not  go  that 
way,  and  so  we  went  back  to  Edinburgh  and  made 
a  fresh  start.  We  stopped  one  night  at  the  Royal 
Hotel,  and  there  we  found  a  letter  from  Mr.  Pop- 
lington.  We  had  left  him  at  Buxton,  and  he  said 
he  was  not  going  to  Scotland  this  season,  but  would 
try  to  see  us  in  London  before  we  sailed. 

He  is  a  good   man,  and  he  wrote  this   letter  on 
purpose  to  tell  me  that  he  had  had  a  letter  from 
his  friend,  the  clergyman  in  Somersetshire,  who  had 
16 


242  Pomona  s    Travels 

forbidden  the  young  woman  whose  wash  my  tricycle 
had  run  into  to  marry  her  lover  because  he  was  a 
Radical.  This  letter  was  in  answer  to  one  Mr. 
Poplington  wrote  to  him,  in  which  he  gave  the 
minister  my  reasons  for  thinking  that  the  best  way 
to  convert  the  young  man  from  Radicalism  was  to 
let  him  marry  the  young  woman,  who  would  be 
sure  to  bring  him  around  to  her  way  of  thinking, 
whatever  that  might  be. 

I  didn't  care  about  the  Radicalism.  All  I  wanted 
was  to  get  the  two  married,  and  then  it  would  not 
make  the  least  difference  to  me  what  their  politics 
might  be  ;  if  they  lived  properly  and  was  sober  and 
industrious  and  kept  on  loving  each  other,  I  didn't 
believe  it  would  make  much  difference  to  them.  It 
was  a  long  letter  that  the  clergyman  wrote,  but  the 
point  of  it  was,  that  he  had  concluded  to  tell  the 
young  woman  that  she  might  marry  the  fellow  if 
she  liked,  and  that  she  must  do  her  best  to  make 
him  a  good  Conservative,  which,  of  course,  she 
promised  to  do.  When  I  read  this  I  clapped  my 
hands,  for  who  could  have  suspected  that  I  should 
have  the  good  luck  to  come  to  this  country  to  spend 
the  summer  and  make  two  matches  before  I  left  it ! 

When  we  left  Edinburgh  to  gradually  wend  our 
way  to  this  place,  which  is  on  the  west  coast  of 
Scotland,  the  first  town  we  stopped  at  was  Stirling, 
where  the  Scotch  kings  used  to  live.  Of  course  we 
went  to  the  castle,  which  stands  on  the  rocks  high 


Porno m as    Travels  243 

above  the  town  ;  but  before  we  started  to  go  there 
Jone  inquired  if  the  place  was  a  ruin  or  not,  and 
when  he  was  told  it  was  not,  and  that  soldiers 
lived  there,  he  said  it  was  all  right,  and  we  went. 
He  now  says  he  must  positively  decline  to  visit  any 
more  houses  out  of  repair.  He  is  tired  of  them  ; 
and  since  he  has  got  over  his  rheumatism  he  feels 
less  like  visiting  ruins  than  he  ever  did.  I  tell  him 
the  ruins  are  not  any  more  likely  to  be  damp  than 
a  good  many  of  the  houses  that  people  live  in  ;  but 
this  didn't  shake  him,  and  I  suppose  if  we  come  to 
any  more  vine-covered  and  shattered  remnants  of 
antiquity  I  shall  be  obliged  to  go  over  them  by 
myself. 

The  castle  is  a  great  place,  which  I  wouldn't  have 
missed  for  the  world  ;  but  the  spot  that  stirred  my 
soul  the  most  was  in  a  little  garden,  as  high  in  the 
air  as  the  top  of  a  steeple,  where  we  could  look  out 
over  the  battlefield  of  Bannockburn.  Besides  this, 
we  could  see  the  mountains  of  Ben-Lomond,  Ben- 
Venue,  Ben-A'an,  Benledi,  and  ever  so  much  Scot 
tish  landscape  spreading  out  for  miles  upon  miles. 
There  is  a  little  hole  in  the  wall  here  called  the 
Ladies'  Look-Out,  where  the  ladies  of  the  court 
could  sit  and  see  what  was  going  on  in  the  country 
below  without  being  seen  themselves,  but  I  stood 
up  and  took  in  everything  over  the  top  of  the  wall. 

I  don't  know  whether  I  told  you  that  the 
mountains  of  Scotland  are  "  Bens,"  and  the  mouths 


244  Pomona  s   Travels 

of  rivers  are  "  abers,"  and  islands  are  "  inches." 
Walking  about  the  streets  of  Stirling,  and  I  didn't 
have  time  to  see  half  as  much  as  I  wanted  to,  I 
came  to  the  shop  of  a  "  flesher."  I  didn't  know 
what  it  was  until  I  looked  into  the  window  and 
saw  that  it  was  a  butcher  shop. 

I  like  a  language  just  about  as  foreign  as  the 
Scotch  is.  There  are  a  good  many  words  in  it  that 
people  not  Scotch  don't  understand,  but  that  gives 
a  person  the  feeling  that  she  is  travelling  abroad, 
which  I  want  to  have  when  I  am  abroad.  Then, 
on  the  other  hand,  there  are  not  enough  of  them  to 
hinder  a  traveller  from  making  herself  understood. 
So  it  is  natural  for  me  to  like  it  ever  so  much 
better  than  French,  in  which,  when  I  am  in  it,  I 
simply  sink  to  the  bottom  if  no  helping  hand  is 
held  out  to  me. 

I  had  some  trouble  with  Jone  that  night  at  the 
hotel,  because  he  had  a  novel  which  he  had  been 
reading  for  I  don't  know  how  long,  and  which  he 
said  he  wanted  to  get  through  with  before  he 
began  anything  else.  But  now  I  told  him  he  was 
going  to  enter  on  the  wonderful  country  of  the 
"  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  and  that  he  ought  to  give  up 
everything  else  and  read  that  book,  because  if  he 
didn't  go  there  with  his  mind  prepared  the  scenery 
would  not  sink  into  his  soul  as  it  ought  to.  He 
was  of  the  opinion  that  when  my  romantic  feeling 
got  on  top  of  the  scenery  it  would  be  likely  to  sink 


Pomona 's   Travels  245 

into  his  soul  as  deep  as  he  cared  to  have  it,  without 
any  preparation,  but  that  sort  of  talk  wouldn't  do 
for  me.  I  didn't  want  to  be  gliding  o'er  the 
smooth  waters  of  Loch  Katrine,  and  have  him  ask 
ing  me  who  the  girl  was  who  rowed  her  shallop  to 
the  silver  strand,  and  the  end  of  it  was  that  I  made 
him  sit  up  until  a  quarter  of  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning  while  I  read  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake  "  to 
him.  I  had  read  it  before  and  he  had  not,  but  I 
hadn't  got  a  quarter  through  before  he  was  just  as 
willing  to  listen  as  I  was  to  read.  And  when  I  got 
through  I  was  in  such  a  glow  that  Jone  said  he 
believed  that  all  the  blood  in  my  veins  had  turned 
to  hot  Scotch. 

I  didn't  pay  any  attention  to  this,  and  after  going 
to  the  window  and  looking  out  at  the  Gaelic  moon, 
which  was  about  half  full  and  rolling  along  among 
the  clouds,  I  turned  to  Jone  and  said,  "  Jone,  let's 
sing  '  Scots  wha  ha'/  before  we  go  to  bed." 

"  If  we  do  roar  out  that  thing,"  said  Jone,  "  they 
will  put  us  out  on  the  curbstone  to  spend  the  rest 
of  the  night." 

"  Let's  whisper  it,  then,"  said  I ;  "  the  spirit  of  it 
is  all  I  want.  I  don't  care  for  the  loudness." 

"  I'd  be  willing  to  do  that,"  said  Jone,  "  if  I  knew 
the  tune  and  a  few  of  the  words." 

"  Oh,  bother ! "  said  I ;  and  when  I  got  into  bed  I 
drew  the  clothes  over  my  head  and  sang  that  brave 
song  all  to  myself.  Doing  it  that  way  the  words 


246  Pomona  s    Travels 

and  tune  didn't  matter  at  all,  but  I  felt  the  spirit  of 
it,  and  that  was  all  I  wanted,  and  then  I  went  to 
sleep. 

The  next  morning  we  went  to  Callander  by  train, 
and  there  we  took  a  coach  for  Trossachs.  It  is 
hardly  worth  while  to  say  we  went  on  top,  because 
the  coaches  here  haven't  any  inside  to  them,  except 
a  hole  where  they  put  the  baggage.  We  drove 
along  a  beautiful  road  with  mountains  and  vales 
and  streams,  and  the  driver  told  us  the  name  of 
everything  that  had  a  name,  which  he  couldn't  help 
very  well,  being  asked  so  constant  by  me.  But  I 
didn't  feel  altogether  satisfied,  for  we  hadn't  come 
to  anything  quotable,  and  I  didn't  like  to  have 
Jone  sit  too  long  without  something  happening  to 
stir  up  some  of  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake  "  which  I 
had  pumped  into  his  mind  the  day  before,  and  so 
keep  it  fresh. 

Before  long,  however,  the  driver  pointed  out  the 
ford  of  Coilantogle.  The  instant  he  said  this  I  half 
jumped  up,  and,  seizing  Jone  by  the  arm,  I  cried, 
"  Don't  you  remember?  This  is  the  place  where 
the  Knight  of  Snowdoun,  James  Fitz-James,  fought 
Roderick  Dhu  !  "  And  then  without  caring  who 
else  heard  me,  I  burst  out  with  : 

'*  *  His  back  against  a  rock  he  bore, 
And  firmly  placed  his  foot  before  : 
"  Come  one,  come  all  !     This  rock  shall  fly 
From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I.'"" 


Pomona  s    Travels  247 

"  No,  madam,"  said  the  driver,  politely  touching 
his  hat,  "  that  was  a  mile  farther  on.  This  place 
is : 

*'  '  And  here  his  course  the  chieftain  staid, 
Threw  down  his  target  and  his  plaid.'  " 

"  You  are  right,"  said  I  ;  and  then  I  began  again : 

"  '  Then  each  at  once  his  falchion  drew, 
Each  on  the  ground  his  scabbard  threw, 
Each  look'd  to  sun,  and  stream,  and  plain, 
As  what  they  ne'er  might  see  again  ; 
Then  foot,  and  point,  and  eye  opposed, 
In  dubious  strife  they  darkly  closed.'  " 

I  didn't  repeat  any  more  of  the  poem,  though 
everybody  was  listening  quite  respectful  without 
thinking  of  laughing,  and  as  for  Jone,  I  could  see  by 
the  way  he  sat  and  looked  about  him  that  his  tinder 
had  caught  my  spark;  but  I  knew  that  the  thing  for 
me  to  do  here  was  not  to  give  out  but  take  in,  and 
so,  to  speak  in  figures,  I  drank  in  the  whole  of  Lake 
Vannachar,  as  we  drove  along  its  lovely  marge 
until  we  came  to  the  other  end,  and  the  driver  said 
we  would  now  go  over  the  Brigg  of  Turk.  At  this 
up  I  jumped  and  said  : 

"  '  And  when  the  Brigg  of  Turk  was  won, 
The  headmost  horseman  rode  alone.'  " 

I  had  sense  enough  not  to  quote  the  next  two 
lines,  because  when  I  had  read  them  to  Jone  he 
said  that  it  was  a  shame  to  use  a  horse  that  way. 

We  now  came  to  Loch  Achray,  at  the  other  end 


248  Pomona  s    Travels 

of  which  is  the  Trossachs,  where  we  stopped  for  the 
night,  and  when  the  driver  told  me  the  mountain 
we  saw  before  us  was  Ben-Venue,  I  repeated  the 
lines : 

"  *  The  hunter  marked  that  mountain  high, 
The  lone  lake's  western  boundary, 
And  deem'd  the  stag  must  turn  to  bay, 
Where  that  huge  rampart  barr'd  the  way.'  " 

At  last  we  reached  the  Trossachs  Hotel,  which 
stands  near  the  wild  ravines  rilled  with  bristling 
woods  where  the  stag  was  lost,  with  the  lovely  lake 
in  front  and  Ben-Venue  towering  up  on  the  other 
side.  I  was  so  excited  I  could  scarcely  eat,  and  no 
wonder,  because  for  the  greater  part  of  the  day 
I  had  breathed  nothing  but  the  spirit  of  Scott's 
poetry.  I  forgot  to  say  that  from  the  time  we  left 
Callander  until  we  got  to  the  hotel  the  rain  poured 
down  steadily,  but  that  didn't  make  any  difference 
to  me.  A  human  being  soaked  with  the  "  Lady  of 
the  Lake  "  is  rain-proof. 


Letter  Number  Twenty-four 

EDINBURGH 

I  WAS  sorry  to  stop  my  last  letter  right  in  the 
middle  of  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake  "  country,  but  I 
couldn't  get  it  all  in,  and  the  fact  is,  I  can't  get  all 
I  want  to  say  in  any  kind  of  a  letter.  The  things  I 
have  seen  and  want  to  write  about  are  crowded  to 
gether  like  the  Scottish  mountains. 

On  the  day  after  we  got  to  Trossachs  Hotel,  and 
I  don't  know  any  place  I  would  rather  spend  weeks 
at  than  there,  Jone  and  I  walked  through  the 
"  darksome  glen  "  where  the  stag, 

"  Soon  lost  to  hound  and  hunter's  ken, 
In  the  deep  Trossachs'  wildest  nook 
His  solitary  refuge  took." 

And  then  we  came  out  on  the  far-famed  Loch 
Katrine.  There  was  a  little  steamboat  there  to 
take  passengers  to  the  other  end,  where  a  coach  was 
waiting,  but  it  wasn't  time  for  that  to  start,  and  we 
wandered  on  the  banks  of  that  song-gilded  piece  of 
water.  It  didn't  lie  before  us  like  "  one  burnished 
sheet  of  living  gold, "  as  it  appeared  to  James  Fitz- 
James,  but  my  soul  could  supply  the  sunset  if  I 
chose.  There,  too,  was  the  island  of  the  fair  Ellen, 


250  Pomona  s   Travels 

and  beneath  our  very  feet  was  the  "  silver  strand  " 
to  which  she  rowed  her  shallop.  I  am  sorry  to  say 
there  isn't  so  much  of  the  silver  strand  as  there 
used  to  be,  because,  in  this  world,  as  I  have  read, 
and  as  I  have  seen,  the  spirit  of  realistics  is  always 
crowding  and  trampling  on  the  toes  of  the  roman 
tics,  and  the  people  of  Glasgow  have  actually  laid 
water-pipes  from  their  town  to  this  lovely  lake,  and 
now  they  turn  the  faucets  in  their  back  kitchens 
and  out  spouts  the  tide  which  kissed 

"  With  whispering  sound  and  slow 
The  beach  of  pebbles  bright  as  snow." 

This  wouldn't  have  been  so  bad,  because  the  lake 
has  enough  and  to  spare  of  its  limpid  wave;  but  in 
order  to  make  their  water-works  the  Glasgow  people 
built  a  dam,  and  that  has  raised  the  lake  a  good 
deal  higher,  so  that  it  overflows  ever  so  much  of 
the  silver  strand.  But  I  can  pick  out  the  real  from 
a  scene  like  that  as  I  can  pick  out  and  throw  away 
the  seeds  of  an  orange,  and  gazing  o'er  that  en 
chanted  scene  I  felt  like  the  Knight  of  Snowdoun 
himself,  when  he  first  beheld  the  lake  and  said : 

"  How  blithely  might  the  bugle  horn 

Chide,  on  the  lake,  the  lingering  morn  ! " 

and  then  I  went  on  with  the  lines  until  I  came  to 

"  Blithe  were  it  then  to  wander  here  ! 
But  now — beshrew  yon  nimble  deer  " — 


Pomona  s   Travels  251 

"  You'd  better  beshrew  that  steamboat  bell,"  said 
Jone,  and  away  we  went  and  just  caught  the  boat. 
Realistics  come  in  very  well  sometimes  when  they 
take  the  form  of  legs. 

The  steamboat  took  us  over  nearly  the  whole  of 
Lake  Katrine,  and  I  must  say  that  I  was  so  busy 
fitting  verses  to  scenery  that  I  don't  remember 
whether  it  rained  or  the  sun  shone.  When  we  left 
the  boat  we  took  a  coach  to  Inversnaid  on  Loch 
Lomond,  and,  as  we  rode  along,  it  made  my  heart 
almost  sink  to  feel  that  I  had  to  leave  my  poetry 
behind  me,  for  I  didn't  know  any  that  suited  this 
region.  But  when  we  got  in  sight  of  Loch  Lomond 
a  Scotch  girl  who  was  on  the  seat  behind  me,  and 
had  several  friends  with  her,  began  to  sing  a  song 
about  Lomond,  of  which  I  only  remember,  "  You 
take  the  high  road  and  I'll  take  the  low  road,  and 
I'll  get  to  Scotland  afore  you." 

I  am  sure  I  must  have  Scotch  blood  in  me,  for 
when  I  heard  that  song  it  wound  up  my  feelings  to 
such  a  pitch  that  I  believe  if  that  girl  had  been  near 
enough  I  should  have  given  her  a  hug  and  a  kiss. 
As  for  Jone,  he  seemed  to  be  nearly  as  much  touched 
as  I  was,  though  not  in  the  same  way,  of  course. 

We  took  a  boat  on  Loch  Lomond  to  Ardlui, 
another  little  town,  and  then  we  drove  nine  miles 
to  the  railroad.  This  was  through  a  wild  and 
solemn  valley,  and  by  the  side  of  a  rushing  river, 
full  of  waterfalls  and  deep  and  diresome  pools. 


252  Pomona's   Travels 

When  we  reached  the  railroad  we  found  a  train 
waiting,  and  we  took  it  and  went  to  Oban,  which 
we  reached  about  six  o'clock.  Even  this  railroad 
trip  was  delightful,  for  we  went  by  the  great  Lake 
Awe,  with  another  rushing  river  and  mountains  and 
black  precipices.  We  had  a  carriage  all  to  ourselves 
until  an  old  lady  got  in  at  a  station,  and  she  hadn't 
been  sitting  in  her  corner  more  than  ten  minutes 
before  she  turned  to  me  and  said  : 

"You  haven't  any  lakes  like  this  in  your  country, 
I  suppose." 

Now  I  must  say  that,  in  the  heated  condition  I 
had  been  in  ever  since  I  came  into  Scotland,  a 
speech  like  that  was  like  a  squirt  of  cold  water  into 
a  thing  full  of  steam.  For  a  couple  of  seconds  my 
boiling  stopped,  but  my  fires  was  just  as  blazing  as 
ever,  and  I  felt  as  if  I  could  turn  them  on  that  old 
woman  and  shrivel  her  up  for  plastering  her  com 
parisons  on  me  at  such  a  time. 

"  Of  course,  we  haven't  anything  just  like  this,"  I 
said,  "  but  it  takes  all  sorts  of  scenery  to  make  up 
a  world." 

"That's  very  true,  isn't  it?"  said  she.  "But, 
really,  one  couldn't  expect  in  America  such  a  lake 
as  that,  such  mountains,  such  grandeur! " 

Now  I  made  up  my  mind  if  she  was  going  to 
keep  up  this  sort  of  thing  Jone  and  me  would 
change  carriages  when  we  stopped  at  the  next 
station,  for  comparisons  are  very  different  from 


Pomona's   Travels  253 

poetry,  and  if  you  try  to  mix  them  with  scenery 
you  make  a  mess  that  is  not  fit  for  a  Christian. 
But  I  thought  first  I  would  give  her  a  word  back : 

"  I  have  seen  to-day,"  I  said,  "  the  loveliest 
scenery  I  ever  met  with;  but  we've  got  grand 
canons  in  America  where  you  could  put  the  whole 
of  that  scenery  without  crowding,  and  where  it 
wouldn't  be  much  noticed  by  spectators,  so  busy 
would  they  be  gazing  at  the  surrounding  wonders." 

"  Fancy  !  "  said  she. 

"I  don't  want  to  say  anything,"  said  I,  "against 
what  I  have  seen  to-day,  and  I  don't  want  to  think 
of  anything  else  while  I  am  looking  at  it ;  but  this  I 
will  say,  that  landscape  with  Scott  is  very  different 
from  landscape  without  him." 

"That  is  very  true,  isn't  it?"  said  she;  and  then 
she  stopped  making  comparisons,  and  I  looked  out 
of  the  window. 

Oban  is  a  very  pretty  place  on  the  coast,  but  we 
never  should  have  gone  there  if  it  had  not  been  the 
place  to  start  from  for  Staffa  and  lona.  When  I 
was  only  a  girl  I  saw  pictures  of  Fingal's  Cave,  and 
I  have  read  a  good  deal  about  it  since,  and  it  is  one 
of  the  spots  in  the  world  that  I  have  been  longing  to 
see,  but  I  feel  like  crying  when  I  tell  you,  madam, 
that  the  next  morning  there  was  such  a  storm  that 
the  boat  for  Staffa  didn't  even  start ;  and  as  the 
people  told  us  that  the  storm  would  most  likely  last 
two  or  three  days,  and  that  the  sea  for  a  few  days 


254  Pomona  s   Travels 

more  would  be  so  rough  that  Staffa  would  be  out 
of  the  question,  we  had  to  give  it  up,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  fall  back  from  the  reality  to  my  imagina 
tion.  Jone  tried  to  comfort  me  by  telling  me  that 
he  would  be  willing  to  bet  ten  to  one  that  my  fancy 
would  soar  a  mile  above  the  real  thing,  and  that  per 
haps  it  was  very  well  I  didn't  see  old  Fingal's  Cave 
and  so  be  disappointed. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  a  good  thing,"  said  I,  u  that  you 
didn't  go,  and  that  you  didn't  get  so  seasick  that 
you  would  be  ready  to  renounce  your  country's  flag 
and  embrace  Mormonism  if  such  things  would  make 
you  feel  better."  But  that  is  the  only  thing  that  is 
good  about  it,  and  I  have  a  cloud  on  my  recollec 
tion  which  shall  never  be  lifted  until  Corinne  is  old 
enough  to  travel  and  we  come  here  with  her. 

But  although  the  storm  was  so  bad,  it  was  not 
bad  enough  to  keep  us  from  making  our  water  trip 
to  Glasgow,  for  the  boat  we  took  did  not  have  to  go 
out  to  sea.  It  was  a  wonderfully  beautiful  passage 
we  made  among  the  islands  and  along  the  coast, 
with  the  great  mountains  on  the  mainland  standing 
up  above  everything  else.  After  a  while  we  got  to 
the  Crinan  Canal,  which  is  in  reality  a  short  cut 
across  the  field.  It  is  nine  miles  long  and  not  much 
wider  than  a  good-sized  ditch,  but  it  saves  more 
than  a  hundred  miles  of  travel  around  an  island. 
We  was  on  a  sort  of  a  toy  steamboat  which  went 
its  way  through  the  fields  and  bushes  and  grass  so 


Pomona  s    Travels  255 

close  we  could  touch  them ;  and  as  there  was  eleven 
locks  where  the  boat  had  to  stop,  we  got  out  two 
or  three  times  and  walked  along  the  banks  to  the 
next  lock.  That  being  the  kind  of  a  ride  Jone  likes, 
he  blessed  Buxton.  At  the  other  end  of  the  canal 
we  took  a  bigger  steamboat  which  carried  us  to 
Glasgow. 

In  the  morning  it  hailed,  which  afterward  turned 
to  rain,  but  in  the  afternoon  there  was  only  showers 
now  and  then,  so  that  we  spent  most  of  the  time  on 
deck.  On  this  boat  we  met  a  very  nice  Englishman 
and  his  wife,  and  when  they  had  heard  us  speak 
to  each  other  they  asked  us  if  we  had  ever  been  in 
this  part  of  the  world  before,  and  when  we  said  we 
hadn't  they  told  us  about  the  places  we  passed.  If 
we  had  been  an  English  couple  who  had  never  been 
there  before  they  wouldn't  have  said  a  word  to  us. 

As  we  got  near  the  Clyde  the  gentleman  began 
to  talk  about  ship-building,  and  pretty  soon  I  saw 
in  his  face  plain  symptoms  that  he  was  going  to 
have  an  attack  of  comparison  making.  I  have  seen 
so  much  of  this  disorder  that  I  can  nearly  always 
tell  when  it  is  coming  on  a  person.  In  about  a  min 
ute  the  disease  broke  out  on  him,  and  he  began  to 
talk  about  the  differences  between  American  and 
English  ships.  He  told  Jone  and  me  about  a 
steamship  that  was  built  out  in  San  Francisco  which 
shook  three  thousand  bolts  out  of  herself  on  her 
first  voyage.  It  seemed  to  me  that  that  was  a  good 


256  Pomona  s   Travels 

deal  like  a  codfish  shaking  his  bones  out  through 
swimming  too  fast.  I  couldn't  help  thinking  that 
that  steamship  must  have  had  a  lot  of  bolts  so  as 
to  have  enough  left  to  keep  her  from  scattering 
herself  over  the  bottom  of  the  ocean. 

I  expected  Jone  to  say  something  in  behalf  of 
his  country's  ships,  but  he  didn't  seem  to  pay  much 
attention  to  the  boat  story,  so  I  took  up  the  cudg 
els  myself,  and  I  said  to  the  gentleman  that  all 
nations,  no  matter  how  good  they  might  be  at  ship 
building,  sometimes  made  mistakes,  and  then  to 
make  a  good  impression  on  him  I  whanged  him 
over  the  head  with  the  "  Great  Eastern,"  and  asked 
him  if  there  ever  was  a  vessel  that  was  a  greater 
failure  than  that. 

He  said,  "Yes,  yes,  the  'Great  Eastern'  was  not 
a  success,"  and  then  he  stopped  talking  about  ships. 

When  we  got  fairly  into  the  Clyde  and  near  Glas 
gow  the  scene  was  wonderful.  It  was  nearly  night, 
and  the  great  fires  of  the  factories  lit  up  the  sky, 
and  we  saw  on  the  stocks  a  great  ship  being  built. 

We  stayed  in  Glasgow  one  day,  and  Jone  was 
delighted  with  it,  because  he  said  it  was  like  an 
American  city.  Now,  on  principle,  I  like  American 
cities,  but  I  didn't  come  to  Scotland  to  see  them ; 
and  the  greatest  pleasure  I  had  in  Glasgow  was 
standing  with  a  tumbler  of  water  in  my  hand, 
repeating  to  myself  as  much  of  the  "  Lady  of  the 
Lake  "  as  I  could  remember. 


Letter  Number  Twenty-five 

LONDON 

HERE  we  are  in  this  wonderful  town,  where,  if 
you  can't  see  everything  you  want  to  see,  you  can 
generally  see  a  sample  of  it,  even  if  your  fad  hap 
pens  to  be  the  ancientnesses  of  Egypt.  We  are  at 
the  Babylon  Hotel,  where  we  shall  stay  until  it  is 
time  to  start  for  Southampton,  where  we  shall  take 
the  steamer  for  home.  What  we  are  going  to  do 
between  here  and  Southampton  I  don't  know  yet ; 
but  I  do  know  that  Jone  is  all  on  fire  with  joy 
because  he  thinks  his  journeys  are  nearly  over,  and 
I  am  chilled  with  grief  when  I  think  that  my  jour 
neys  are  nearly  over. 

We  left  Edinburgh  on  the  train  called  the 
"  Flying  Scotsman,"  and  it  deserved  its  name.  I 
suppose  that  in  the  days  of  Wallace  and  Bruce  and 
Rob  Roy  the  Scots  must  often  have  skipped  along 
in  a  lively  way ;  but  I  am  sure  if  any  of  them  had 
ever  invaded  England  at  the  rate  we  went  into  it, 
the  British  lion  would  soon  have  been  living  on 
thistles  instead  of  roses. 

The  speed  of  this  train  was  sometimes  a  mile  a 
minute,  I  think ;  and  I  am  sure  I  was  never  on  any 
railroad   in   America  where   I  was   given  a  shorter 
17 


258  Pomona  s    Travels 

time  to  get  out  for  something  to  eat  than  we  had  at 
York.  Jone  and  I  are  generally  pretty  quick  about 
such  things,  but  we  had  barely  time  to  get  back  to 
our  carriage  before  that  "  Flying  Scotsman  "  went 
off  like  a  streak  of  lightning. 

On  the  way  we  saw  a  part  of  York  Minster,  and 
had  a  splendid  view  of  Durham  Cathedral,  standing 
high  in  the  unreachable — that  is,  as  far  as  I  was 
concerned.  Peterborough  Cathedral  we  also  saw 
the  outside  of,  and  I  felt  like  a  boy  looking  in  at  a 
confectioner's  window  with  no  money  to  buy  any 
thing.  It  wasn't  money  that  I  wanted  ;  it  was  time, 
and  we  had  very  little  of  that  left. 

The  next  day,  after  we  reached  London,  I  set  out 
to  attend  to  a  piece  of  business  that  I  didn't  want 
Jone  to  know  anything  about.  My  business  was  to 
look  up  my  family  pedigree.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
it  would  be  a  shame  if  I  went  away  from  the  home 
of  my  ancestors  without  knowing  something  about 
those  ancestors  and  about  the  links  that  connected 
me  with  them.  So  I  determined  to  see  what  I 
could  do  in  the  way  of  making  up  a  family  tree. 

By  good  luck,  Jone  had  some  business  to  attend 
to  about  money  and  rooms  on  the  steamer,  and  so 
forth,  and  so  I  could  start  out  by  myself  without 
his  even  asking  me  where  I  was  going.  Now,  of 
course,  it  would  be  a  natural  thing  for  a  person  to 
go  and  seek  out  his  ancestors  in  the  ancient  village 
from  which  they  sprang,  and  to  read  their  names  on 


44  A   PERSON    WHO    WAS   A   FAMILY-TREE-MAN" 


Pomona  s    Travels  261 

the  tombstones  in  the  venerable  little  church,  but 
as  I  didn't  know  where  this  village  was,  of  course  I 
couldn't  go  to  it.  But  in  London  is  the  place 
where  you  can  find  out  how  to  find  out  such  things. 

As  far  back  as  when  we  was  in  Chedcombe  I  had 
had  a  good  deal  of  talk  with  Miss  Pondar  about 
ancestors  and  families.  I  told  her  that  my  fore 
fathers  came  from  this  country,  which  I  was  very 
sure  of,  judging  from  my  feelings ;  but  as  I  couldn't 
tell  her  any  particulars,  I  didn't  go  into  the  matter 
very  deep.  But  I  did  say  there  was  a  good  many 
points  that  I  would  like  to  set  straight,  and  asked 
her  if  she  knew  where  I  could  find  out  something 
about  English  family  trees.  She  said  she  had  heard 
there  was  a  big  heraldry  office  in  London,  but  if  I 
didn't  want  to  go  there,  she  knew  of  a  person  who 
was  a  family-tree-man.  He  had  an  office  in  Lon 
don,  and  his  business  was  to  go  around  and  tend  to 
trees  of  that  kind  which  had  been  neglected,  and  to 
get  them  into  shape  and  good  condition.  She  gave 
me  his  address,  and  I  had  kept  the  thing  quiet  in 
my  mind  until  now. 

I  found  the  family-tree-man,  whose  name  was 
Brandish,  in  a  small  room  not  too  clean,  over  a 
shop  not  far  from  St.  Paul's  Churchyard.  He  had 
another  business,  which  related  to  patent  poison  for 
flies,  and  at  first  he  thought  I  had  come  to  see  him 
about  that,  but  when  he  found  out  I  wanted  to  ask 
him  about  my  family  tree  his  face  brightened  up. 


262  Pomona  s   Travels 

When  I  told  Mr.  Brandish  my  business  the  first 
thing  he  asked  me  was  my  family  name.  Of  course 
I  had  expected  this,  and  I  had  thought  a  great  deal 
about  the  answer  I  ought  to  give.  In  the  first 
place,  I  didn't  want  to  have  anything  to  do  with  my 
father's  name.  I  never  had  anything  much  to  do 
with  him,  because  he  died  when  I  was  a  little  baby, 
and  his  name  had  nothing  high-toned  about  it,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  to  belong  to  that  kind  of  a  family 
that  you  would  be  better  satisfied  with  the  less  you 
looked  up  its  beginnings  ;  but  my  mother's  family 
was  a  different  thing.  Nobody  could  know  her 
without  feeling  that  she  had  sprung  from  good 
roots.  It  might  have  been  from  the  stump  of  a 
tree  that  had  been  cut  down,  but  the  roots  must 
have  been  of  no  common  kind  to  send  up  such  a 
shoot  as  she  was.  It  was  from  her  that  I  got  my 
longings  for  the  romantic. 

She  used  to  tell  me  a  good  deal  about  her  father, 
who  must  have  been  a  wonderful  man  in  many 
ways.  What  she  told  me  was  not  like  a  sketch  of 
his  life,  which  I  wish  it  had  been,  but  mostly  anec 
dotes  of  what  he  said  and  did.  So  it  was  my 
mother's  ancestral  tree  I  determined  to  find,  and 
without  saying  whether  it  was  on  my  mother's 
or  father's  side  I  was  searching  for  ancestors, 
I  told  Mr.  Brandish  that  Dork  was  the  family 
name. 

"  Dork,"  said   he ;  "a   rather   uncommon   name, 


Pomona  s   Travels  263 

isn't  it  ?  Was  your  father  the  eldest  son  of  a  family 
of  that  name?  " 

Now  I  was  hoping  he  wouldn't  say  anything 
about  my  father. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  I ;  "it  isn't  that  line  that  I  am 
looking  up.  It  is  my  mother's.  Her  name  was 
Dork  before  she  was  married." 

"  Really  !  Now  I  see,"  said  he,  "  you  have  the 
paternal  line  all  correct,  and  you  want  to  look  up 
the  line  on  the  other  side.  That  is  very  common  ; 
it  is  so  seldom  that  one  knows  the  line  of  ancestors 
on  one's  maternal  side.  Dork,  then,  was  the  name 
of  your  maternal  grandfather." 

It  struck  me  that  a  maternal  grandfather  must  be 
a  grandmother,  but  I  didn't  say  so. 

"Can  you  tell  me,"  said  he,  "whether  it  was  he 
who  emigrated  from  this  country  to  America,  or 
whether  it  was  his  father  or  his  grandfather?" 

Now  I  hadn't  said  anything  about  the  United 
States,  for  I  had  learned  there  was  no  use  in  wasting 
breath  telling  English  people  I  had  come  from 
America,  so  I  wasn't  surprised  at  his  question,  but 
I  couldn't  answer  it. 

"  I  can't  say  much  about  that,"  I  said,  "  until 
I  have  found  out  something  about  the  English 
branches  of  the  family." 

"  Very  good,"  said  he.  "  We  will  look  over  the 
records,"  and  he  took  down  a  big  book  and  turned 
to  the  letter  D.  He  ran  his  finger  down  two 


264  Pomona  s    Travels 

or  three  pages,  and  then  he  began  to  shake  his 
head. 

"Dork?"  said  he.  "  There  doesn't  seem  to  be 
any  Dork,  but  here  is  Dorkminster.  Now  if  that 
was  your  family  name  we'd  have  it  all  here.  No 
doubt  you  know  all  about  that  family.  It's  a  grand 
old  family,  isn't  it?  Isn't  it  possible  that  your 
grandfather  or  one  of  his  ancestors  may  have 
dropped  part  of  the  name  when  he  changed  his 
residence  to  America?" 

Now  I  began  to  think  hard ;  there  was  some 
reason  in  what  the  family-tree-man  said.  I  knew 
very  well  that  the  same  family  name  was  often 
different  in  different  countries,  changes  being  made 
to  suit  climates  and  people. 

"  Minster  has  a  religious  meaning,  hasn't  it?" 
said  I. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  said  he  ;  "  it  relates  to  cathedrals 
and  that  sort  of  thing." 

Now,  so  far  as  I  could  remember,  none  of  the 
things  my  mother  had  ever  told  me  about  her 
father  was  in  any  ways  related  to  religion.  They 
was  mostly  about  horses;  and  although  there  is 
really  no  reason  for  the  disconnection  between 
horses  and  religion,  especially  when  you  consider 
the  hymns  with  heavenly  chariots  in  them  must 
have  had  horses,  it  didn't  seem  to  me  that  my 
grandfather  could  have  made  it  a  point  of  being 
religious,  and  perhaps  he  mightn't  have  cared  for 


Pomona 's    Travels  265 

the  cathedral  part  of  his  name,  and  so  might  have 
dropped  it  for  convenience  in  signing,  probably 
being  generally  in  a  hurry,  judging  from  what  my 
mother  had  told  me.  I  said  as  much  to  Mr.  Brand 
ish,  and  he  answered  that  he  thought  it  was  likely 
enough,  and  that  that  sort  of  thing  was  often  done. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  he,  "  let  us  look  into  the 
Dorkminster  line  and  trace  out  your  connection 
with  that.  From  what  place  did  your  ancestors 
come?  " 

It  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  asking  me  a  good 
deal  more  than  he  was  telling  me,  and  I  said  to 
him  :  "  That  is  what  I  want  to  find  out.  What  is 
the  family  home  of  the  Dorkminsters?" 

"  Oh,  they  were  a  great  Hampshire  family/'  said 
he.  "  For  five  hundred  years  they  lived  on  their 
estates  in  Hampshire.  The  first  of  the  name  was 
Sir  William  Dorkminster,  who  came  over  with  the 
Conqueror,  and  most  likely  was  given  those  estates 
for  his  services.  Then  we  go  on  until  we  come 
to  the  Duke  of  Dorkminster,  who  built  a  castle, 
and  whose  brother  Henry  was  made  bishop  and 
founded  an  abbey,  which  I  am  sorry  to  say  doesn't 
now  exist,  being  totally  destroyed  by  Oliver  Crom 
well." 

You  cannot  imagine  how  my  blood  leaped  and 
surged  within  me  as  I  listened  to  those  words. 
William  the  Conqueror !  An  ancestral  abbey  !  A 
duke  !  "  Is  the  family  castle  still  standing?"  said  I. 


266  Pomona  s    Travels 

"  It  fell  into  ruins,"  said  he,  "  during  the  reign  of 
Charles  L,  and  even  its  site  is  now  uncertain,  the 
park  having  been  devoted  to  agricultural  purposes. 
The  fourth  Duke  of  Dorkminster  was  to  have 
commanded  one  of  the  ships  which  destroyed  the 
Spanish  Armada,  but  was  prevented  by  a  mortal 
fever  which  cut  him  off  in  his  prime  ;  he  died  with 
out  issue,  and  the  estates  passed  to  the  Culverhams 
of  Wilts." 

"  Did  that  cut  off  the  line?"  said  I,  very  quick. 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  the  family-tree  man,  "  the  line 
went  on.  One  of  the  duke's  younger  sisters  must 
have  married  a  man  on  condition  that  he  took  the 
old  family  name,  which  is  often  done,  and  her 
descendants  must  have  emigrated  somewhere,  for 
the  name  no  longer  appears  in  Hampshire ;  but 
probably  not  to  America,  for  that  was  rather  early 
for  English  emigration." 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  said  I,  "  that  they  went  to 
Scotland?" 

"  Very  likely,"  said  he,  after  thinking  a  minute ; 
"  that  would  be  probable  enough.  Have  you 
reason  to  suppose  that  there  was  a  Scotch  branch 
in  your  family?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  for  it  would  have  been  positively 
wrong  in  me  to  say  that  the  feelings  that  I  had  for 
the  Scotch  hadn't  any  meaning  at  all. 

"  Now  then,"  said  Mr.  Brandish,  "  there  you  are, 
madam.  There  is  a  line  all  the  way  down  from  the 


Pomona  s    Travels  267 

Conqueror  to  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
scarcely  one  man's  lifetime  before  the  Pilgrims 
landed  on  Plymouth  Rock." 

I  now  began  to  calculate  in  my  mind.  I  was 
thirty  years  old ;  my  mother,  most  likely,  was  about 
as  old  when  I  was  born ;  that  made  sixty  years. 
Then  my  grandfather  might  have  been  forty  when 
my  mother  was  born,  and  there  was  a  century. 
As  for  my  great-grandfather  and  his  parents,  I 
didn't  know  anything  about  them.  Of  course, 
there  must  have  been  such  persons,  but  I  didn't 
know  where  they  came  from  or  where  they 
went  to. 

"  I  can  go  back  a  century,"  said  I,  "  but  that 
doesn't  begin  to  meet  the  end  of  the  line  you  have 
marked  out.  There's  a  gap  of  about  two  hundred 
years." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  think  I  would  mind  that,"  said 
Mr.  Brandish.  "  Gaps  of  that  kind  are  constantly 
occurring  in  family  trees.  In  fact,  if  we  was  to 
allow  gaps  of  a  century  or  so  to  interfere  with  the 
working  out  of  family  lines,  it  would  cut  off  a  great 
many  noble  ancestries  from  families  of  high  posi 
tion,  especially  in  the  colonies  and  abroad.  I  beg 
you  not  to  pay  any  attention  to  that,  madam." 

My  nerves  was  tingling  with  the  thought  of  the 
Spanish  Armada,  and  perhaps  Bannockburn  (which 
then  made  me  wish  I  had  known  all  this  before  I 
went  to  Stirling,  but  which  battle,  now  as  I  write, 


268  Pomona  s   Travels 

I  know  must  have  been  fought  a  long  time  be 
fore  any  of  the  Dorks  went  to  Scotland),  and  I 
expect  my  eyes  flashed  with  family  pride,  for  do 
what  I  would  I  couldn't  sit  calm  and  listen  to  what 
I  was  hearing.  But,  after  all,  that  two  hundred 
years  did  weigh  upon  my  mind.  "  If  you  make  a 
family  tree  for  me,"  said  I,  "you  will  have  to  cut 
off  the  trunk  and  begin  again  somewhere  up  in  the 
air." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  he,  "we  don't  do  that.  We 
arrange  the  branches  so  that  they  overlap  each 
other,  and  the  dotted  lines  which  indicate  the  miss 
ing  portions  are  not  noticed.  Then,  after  further 
investigation  and  more  information,  the  dots  can 
be  run  together  and  the  tree  made  complete  and 
perfect." 

Of  course,  I  had  nothing  more  to  say,  and  he 
promised  to  send  me  the  tree  the  next  morning, 
though,  of  course,  requesting  me  to  pay  him  in 
advance,  which  was  the  rule  of  the  office,  and  you 
would  be  amazed,  madam,  if  you  knew  how  much 
that  tree  cost.  I  got  it  the  next  morning,  but  I 
haven't  shown  it  to  Jone  yet.  I  am  proud  that  I 
own  it,  and  I  have  thrills  through  me  whenever 
my  mind  goes  back  to  its  Norman  roots  ;  but  I  am 
bound  to  say  that  family  trees  sometimes  throw  a 
good  deal  of  shade  over  their  owners,  especially 
when  they  have  gaps  in  them,  which  seems  con 
trary  to  nature,  but  is  true  to  fact. 


Letter  Number  Twenty-six 

SOUTHWESTERN  HOTEL,  SOUTHAMPTON 
To-MORROW  our  steamer  sails,  and  this  is  the 
last  letter  1  write  on  English  soil ;  and  although  I 
haven't  done  half  that  I  wanted  to,  there  are  ever 
so  many  things  I  have  done  that  I  can't  write  you 
about. 

I  had  seen  so  few  cathedrals  that  on  the  way 
down  here  I  was  bound  to  see  at  least  one  good 
one,  and  so  we  stopped  at  Winchester.  It  was 
while  walking  under  the  arches  of  that  venerable 
pile  that  the  thought  suddenly  came  to  me  that  we 
were  now  in  Hampshire,  and  that,  perhaps,  in  this 
cathedral  might  be  some  of  the  tombs  of  my 
ancestors.  Without  saying  what  I  was  after  I 
began  at  one  of  the  doors,  and  I  went  clean  around 
that  enormous  church,  and  read  every  tablet  in  the 
walls  and  on  the  floor. 

Once  I  had  a  shock.  There  was  a  good  many 
small  tombs  with  roofs  over  them,  and  statues  of 
people  buried  within,  lying  on  top  of  the  tombs, 
and  some  of  them  had  their  faces  and  clothes 
colored  so  as  to  make  them  look  almost  as  natural 
as  life.  They  was  mostly  bishops,  and  had  been 
lying  there  for  centuries.  While  looking  at  these  I 


270 


Pomona  s    Travels 


came  to  a  tomb  with  an  opening  low  down  on  the 
side  of  it,  and  behind  some  iron  bars  there  lay  a 
stone  figure  that  made  me  fairly  jump.  He  was  on 
his  back  with  hardly  any  clothes  on,  and  was  actu 
ally  nothing  but  skin  and  bones.  His  mouth  was 

open,  as  if  he 
was  gasping 
for  his  last 
breath.  I 
never  saw  such 
an  awful  sight, 
and  as  I  looked 
at  the  thing 
my  blood  be- 
g  an  to  run 
cold,  and  then 
it  froze.  The 
freezing  was 


because  I  sud 
denly  thought 
to  myself  that  this  might  be  a  Dorkminster,  and 
that  that  horrible  object  was  my  ancestor.  I  was 
actually  afraid  to  look  at  the  inscription  on  the  tomb 
stone  for  fear  that  this  was  so,  for  if  it  was,  I  knew 
that  whenever  I  should  think  of  my  family  tree  this 
bag  of  bones  would  be  climbing  up  the  trunk,  or  sit 
ting  on  one  of  the  branches.  But  I  must  know  the 
truth,  and  trembling  so  that  I  could  scarcely  read, 
I  stooped  down  to  look  at  the  inscription  and  find 


"This  might  be  a  Dorkminster" 


Pomona  s    Travels  271 

out  who  that  dreadful  figure  had  been.  It  was  not 
a  Dorkminster,  and  my  spirits  rose. 

We  got  here  three  days  ago,  and  we  have  made 
a  visit  to  the  Isle  of  Wight.  We  went  straight 
down  to  the  southern  coast,  and  stopped  all  night 
at  the  little  town  of  Bonchurch.  It  was  very  lovely 
down  there  with  roses  and  other  flowers  blooming 
out-of-doors  as  if  it  was  summer,  although  it  is  now 
getting  so  cold  everywhere  else.  But  what  pleased 
me  most  was  to  stand  at  the  top  of  a  little  hill,  and 
look  out  over  the  waters  of  the  English  Channel,  and 
feel  that  not  far  out  of  eyeshot  was  the  beautiful  land 
of  France  with  its  lower  part  actually  touching  Italy. 

You  know,  madam,  that  when  we  was  here  before, 
we  was  in  France,  and  a  happy  woman  was  I  to  be 
there,  although  so  much  younger  than  now  I  could 
n't  properly  enjoy  it  ;  but  even  then  France  was 
only  part  of  the  road  to  Italy,  which,  alas,  we  never 
got  to.  Some  day,  however,  I  shall  float  in  a 
gondola  and  walk  amid  the  ruins  of  ancient  Rome, 
and  if  Jone  is  too  sick  of  travel  to  go  with  me,  it 
may  be  necessary  for  Corinne  to  see  the  world,  and 
I  shall  take  her. 

Now  I  must  finish  this  letter  and  bid  good-by  to 
beautiful  Britain,  which  has  made  us  happy  and 
treated  us  well  in  spite  of  some  comparisons  in 
which  we  was  expected  to  be  on  the  wrong  side, 
but  which  hurt  nobody,  and  which  I  don't  want 
even  to  think  of  at  such  a  moment  as  this 


Letter  Number   Twenty-seven 

NEW  YORK 

I  SEND  you  this,  madam,  to  let  you  know  that 
we  arrived  here  safely  yesterday  afternoon,  and 
that  we  are  going  to-day  to  Jone's  mother's  farm 
where  Corinne  is. 

I  liked  sailing  from  Southampton  because  when  I 
start  to  go  to  a  place  I  like  to  go,  and  when  we 
went  home  before  and  had  to  begin  by  going  all 
the  way  up  to  Liverpool  by  land,  and  then  coming 
all  the  way  back  again  by  water,  and  after  a  couple 
of  days  of  this  to  stop  at  Queenstown  and  begin 
the  real  voyage  from  there,  I  did  not  like  it, 
although  it  was  a  good  deal  of  fun  seeing  the 
bumboat  women  come  aboard  at  Queenstown  and 
telescope  themselves  into  each  other  as  they  hur 
ried  up  the  ladder  to  get  on  deck  and  sell  us  things. 

We  had  a  very  good  voyage,  with  about  enough 
rolling  to  make  the  dining  saloon  look  like  some  of 
the  churches  we've  seen  abroad  on  weekdays  where 
there  was  services  regular,  but  mighty  small  con 
gregations. 

When  we  got  in  sight  of  my  native  shore,  Eng 
land,  Scotland,  and  even  the  longed-for  Italy,  with 


Pomona  s   Travels  2  73 

her  palaces  and  gondolas,  faded  from  my  mind,  and 
my  every  fibre  tingled  with  pride  and  patriotism. 
We  reached  our  dock  about  six  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon,  and  I  could  scarcely  stand  still,  so  anxious 
was  I  to  get  ashore.  There  was  a  train  at  eight 
which  reached  Rockbridge  at  half-past  nine,  and 
there  we  could  take  a  carriage  and  drive  to  the  farm 
in  less  than  an  hour,  and  then  Corinne  would  be  in 
my  arms,  so  you  may  imagine  my  state  of  mind — 
Corinne  before  bedtime  !  But  a  cloud  blacker  than 
the  heaviest  fog  came  down  upon  me,  for  while  we 
was  standing  on  the  deck,  expecting  every  minute 
to  land,  a  man  came  along  and  shouted  at  the  top 
of  his  voice  that  no  baggage  could  be  examined  by 
the  custom-house  officers  after  six  o'clock,  and  the 
passengers  could  take  nothing  ashore  with  them  but 
their  hand-bags,  and  must  come  back  in  the  morn 
ing  and  have  their  baggage  examined.  When  I 
heard  this  my  soul  simply  boiled  within  me !  I 
looked  at  Jone,  and  I  could  see  he  was  boiling  just 
as  bad. 

"  Jone,"  said  I,  "  don't  say  a  word  to  me." 
"  I  am  not  going  to  say  a  word,"  said  he,  and  he 
didn't.      All     our    belongings    was    in    our    trunks. 
Jone  didn't   carry  any  hand-bag,  and  I  had  only  a 
little  one  which  had  in  it  three  newspapers,  which 
we  bought  from  the  pilot,  a  tooth-brush,  a  spool  of 
thread  and  some  needles,  and  a  pair  of  scissors  with 
one  point  broken  off.     With   these  things  we  had 
18 


274 


Pomonds    Travels 


to  go  to  a  hotel  and  spend  the  night,  and  in  the 
morning  we  had  to  go  back  to  have  our  trunks 
examined,  which,  as  there  was  nothing  in  them  to 
pay  duty  on,  was  waste  time  for  all  parties,  no 
matter  when  it  was  done. 


'Jone  didn't  carry  any  hand-bag,  and  I  had  only 


That  night,  when  I  was  lying  awake  thinking 
about  this  welcome  to  our 'native  land,  I  don't  say 
that  I  hauled  down  the  stars  and  stripes,  but  I  did 
put  them  at  half  mast.  When  we  arrived  in  Eng 
land  we  got  ashore  about  twelve  o'clock  at  night, 


Pomona  s   Travels  2  75 

but  there  was  the  custom-house  officers  as  civil  and 
obliging  as  any  people  could  be,  ready  to  tend  to  us 
and  pass  us  on.  And  when  I  thought  of  them,  and 
afterward  of  the  lordly  hirelings  who  met  us  here,  I 
couldn't  help  feeling  what  a  glorious  thing  it  would 
be  to  travel  if  you  could  get  home  without  coming 
back. 

Jone  tried  to  comfort  me  by  telling  me  that  we 
ought  to  be  very  glad  we  don't  like  this  sort  of 
thing.  "  In  many  foreign  countries,"  said  he,  '•  peo 
ple  are  a  good  deal  nagged  by  their  governments  and 
they  like  it ;  we  don't  like  it,  so  haul  up  your  flag." 

I  hauled  it  up,  and  it's  flying  now  from  the  tiptop 
of  my  tallest  mast.  In  an  hour  our  train  starts,  and 
I  shall  see  Corinne  before  the  sun  goes  down. 


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